Disturbance
by Cynical Gaze
Summary: Against demonic invasion stands a band of unlikely allies, except that some are more likely than others, and nothing is as it seems.
1. Prologue

**Disturbance**

or

To Hell and Back Again

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Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters' personalities and any original characters herein.

* * *

**Prologue**

Cold Plains.

Out on an open field, a leather-clad amazon was crouching over the body of a dead Rogue. Dried blood and mud caked pale flesh, blackened where it was torn open and face locked in a mask of horror. The speartip angling in her right hand shined dully with blood.

"No use lingering over the dead, Eva."

The blonde woman craned her neck to look up, at the source of the voice. He seemed more like a shadow, with his black clothing and armour offset against the brooding sky, melting into each other.

"How ironic that you should say that, of all people."

The pale man smiled indifferently, wind tugging at his ashen hair. His eyes, grey and impassive, flicked over the dead woman.

"The state of their undress even prevents us from harvesting any useful armour from their slain corpses. Pity."

Eva rose from examining the dead corrupted Rogue, giving a terse breath. She squinted up at the evening firmament. Mildly overcast skies, always threatening with drizzle. The soil was damp but not soaked, battered stalks of grass whipped by moderate wind that always held promise of rain. A typical springtime day, one would say, if one had the time to absorb the subtler aspect of his surroundings. Bloodied corpses and hordes of ravaging demons tend to discourage such frivolities.

Eva shouldered her spear, glancing at the Necromancer. His gaze was as impenetrable as ever. She made a step forward.

"Onwards, then."

They took off towards the nearby patch of trees at a brisk pace.

Quill rats churred in the bushes around the beaten path, occasional unidentifiable sound, startling and unnatural, cutting through. Some distant noises of battle drifted to them on the wind, rising and falling with the icy breeze. Things were deceptively still as they paused at a coppice, wary and anxious. Around them, old branches were spread outward low to the ground and sagged heavy with rainwater. Not far away the remains of a pyre cooled slowly, charred devilkin bodies heaped haphazardly over each other.

Eva scowled into distance. Up ahead, a shape was looming desolately, isolated just on the edge of a forest line.

"A farmhouse," she stated redundantly.

Necromancer was silent. They picked up their pace and made toward the solitary household until they were only meters away, then they slowed their gait to a cautious crawl. Eva gripped her spear in a loose grip readily, leather tightening over wood. She slowly made her way around the corner, stepping on a raised veranda with a loud creak. Wind drove one rotted wooden shutter against the frame erratically, loosed on the rusted hinges. Her companion stopped in the small courtyard, making her pause as well.

She nodded inquisitively in his direction.

"I sense undead presence," he said with unquestionable confidence.

Her attention focused back on the house, on the peeling walls and soaked wood covered with moss, this time all senses strained for any sign of life.

Or anything reminiscent of life.

Stopping at the door, she pulled her spear back and rested the butt end on the ground like a staff, glancing at the Necromancer. He traversed the distance in two long steps, kicking in the door with a driven kick. Damp wood flew off its hinges loudly, stirring small cloud of dust as it landed inward.

They entered.

Scarce light filtered in through long broken windows, bathing everything in eerie atmosphere. Debris was collecting in corners, with roaches and rats skittering underfoot madly. Their boots left wet, muddy prints on the dusty parqueting, steps echoing hollowly. The interior was appropiately bleak and deserted of all activity, with what appeared to be a corpse of the farm's previous occupant, on its knees and leaning lifelessly against the wall like a broken mannequin.

The carcass reeked horribly, filling the already stale air with its additional flavour of rot. Eva grimaced in distaste, scanning the room sharply.

An old, visibly disused zweihänder sword was leaned against the corner behind a beaten armoire, covered in dust and cobwebs. Several rags which might have once been clothes littered the floor by the sideshelves, slowly rotting in perpetual dampness. A dusty table lay brokenly in one corner amidst splinters of chairs, leaning on one end as one of its legs was broken off. She looked at the Necromancer expectantly. He barely turned back to Eva resolutely as a low, crackling moan filled the interior. The dormant zombie stirred, sensing the presence of warm flesh. Its flayed hands scraped up the wall as it pushed itself up and away, unsteadily turning to face the intruders. His face was a visage of blind terror, forever frozen on his unfeeling skin, his eyes – empty, quite literally. Driven by insatiable hunger, he lurched forward and slowly reached a yearning hand toward them, dried flesh hanging from bone in strips.

With an abrupt cry, Eva surged forward to thrust her spear into the zombie, skull cracking like an especially wet eggshell under steel tip. She drove the impaled undead back, pinning him to the wall until the tip came out from the back of his head and buried itself in the thick wood. Putrid yellow ichor oozed from the wound, black when the speartip burrowed deeper. Even with its face caved in and head pierced by tempered steel, it still made some feeble grasps at her. With a snarl, she wrenched the spear upwards with a sharp jerk and crunchy snap, finally destroying the zombie. She withdrew her spear and allowed the body to crumple down the wall, leaving behind a black stain.

Necromancer had already moved into the only other room in the house through the door on her left; the bedroom. Eva paused long enough to give a vicious kick to the lifeless undead, then hurried after him.

Stopping in the doorway, she quickly appraised the room with an exhalation of finality.

"We can rest here for a while," she walked in resolutely.

Necromancer made a non-committal noise as he examined the nightstand drawer disinterestedly. She rested her spear against a blackened fireplace and sat down on the mouldy bed. It creaked in complaint, loose wooden frame straining under the weight. Her keen eyes followed the Necromancer as he paced around the room idly, stopping occasionally to examine a dusty item.

"It's cold," she muttered, rubbing her shoulders distantly.

"I believe we'll get warmer soon," he turned from the window pointedly, manifold torchlights ominously flickering in the distance behind him.

Eva scowled, stepping over to him to glare through the flapping rag covering the broken window. The bobbing, weak lights were spread out in almost a line, with small groupings visible at this distance in the foggy twilight.

"Still in the outskirts, but they are approaching. They can't be farmers."

"I suspect not," Necromancer was now rifling through half-rotted bookshelves off-handedly. "Perhaps they'll pass us undisturbed. But I doubt it."

Eva was already moving into the foyer, dropping her quiver by the window before she disappeared outside. Necromancer tossed a mouldy book he was holding over his shoulder, casually strolling over to lean on the wet windowsill. He peered into the darkness outside for a while, cold wind pulling at his white hair. The sky appeared to be one huge raincloud, tattered and torn towards the horizon, that dissolved all light into grey oppression, like liquid despair. Distant rumbling of thunder could be heard throughout the moors, accentuating the occasional chilling bray, a sound decidedly unnatural and unsettling. Night was approaching fast, and with it things unspeakable, concealed and thriving under the diffused blanket of darkness. Bodies littered the moor, both of peasant and demon alike, rotting freely in whatever gruesome pose they met their demise. Not un-akin to war ravaged countryside, only much more sinister in origin. Over it all hung the stench of death and fear, the constricting walls of anxiety tightening ever closer to any who would venture through these despoiled lands. It was as if on some subconscious level the mind knew these were but the first vestiges of Hell on earth.

"Carvers," Eva declared as she rushed back into the bedroom, fresh raindrops glistening on her armour. "About three dozen of them, with two shamans. Too large for a patrol."

"Quite," Necromancer was leaning against the window frame languidly. "How long until they reach us?"

"Not long. A scouting party of four was sent ahead."

He flung the corner of his cape over his shoulder, sparing her a glance.

"I take it they won't be reporting back?"

The tip of her spear thumped against the battered floor, dripping dark blood on faded wood.

"It doesn't matter, they will know we are here when they find the bodies."

"Let them come, then."

O O O

And come they did.

The first thing heard was the chatter and garbled shouting of deformed demonic bodies, barely contained chaos of approaching horde. Occasionally a flicker of torchlight would illuminate a grotesque limb, a greasy face contorted with inhuman desires.

Eva observed the sinister procession hatefully, gauging the distance with expert eye. She let loose four or five arrows through the window, enraged shrieks signalling they struck true, then dropped the bow and quiver and grabbed her spear. She dashed out of the house just as first diminutive demons reached the porch, swinging their scimitars and shortswords threateningly. Immediately she threw herself into the familiar patterns, both physically and mentally, allowing the hostility of her enemies to fuel her own focus. The carvers surrounded her like deep blue waves, breaking upon her in bloody tide. Guttural croaks mixed with scratching of metal on wood and leather, torches flickering wildly in dying hands. With wide, sweeping motions she slapped aside threatening blades from all directions, skillfully alternating between fast jabs and long thrusts. Soon a circle around her was cleared of immediate assailants, muddy ground littered with fresh bodies.

She couldn't find the warlock in the crowd of angry carvers surrounding her, but his magickal presence was _felt_ even in the heated frenzy of battle. Under the effect of his intangible curse, the damage dealt to her enemies was amplified to untold heights. A simple shove delivered the force of a hammerblow, a punch shattering bone and tearing flesh. Eva could cut through demons as if they were nothing but wax dolls, their bodies tearing with frightening ease.

The carvers circled her warily as the inner group was slaughtered, bodies tumbling away with powerful blows. Eva didn't give them the chance to regroup and overwhelm her, quickly launching herself forward to shatter their ranks. They closed in quickly, oversized scimitars glancing studded leather clumsily while her speartip deflected and stabbed with expertly precision. From the corner of her eye she spotted one of the two shamans, shouting out orders in his guttural tongue and, what was much more disconcerting, resurrecting the killed carvers with his unearthly magic. Previously slain demons rose from the pools of blood as if they had merely taken a clumsy fall, completely restored and healed from all wounds fatal and crippling.

Sliding past a group of charging carvers, she rushed another screeching pair barring her path; first one crashing backwards with perforated chest while the second one's head bloomed like a bloody flower from a penetrating thrust of the spear.

The shaman noticed her sudden focus on him and gave an alarmed cry, retreating behind a disjointed wall of his warriors.

Another carver rose from the mud to her left, revived and unscathed, save for his own spilled blood marring his features. Eva struck out with the butt of her spear to divert the scimitar's wide blade, aimed for her thigh. Dull edge slid down the length of wood with a scraping sound, then was slapped aside with a quick flick of her wrists. The diminutive fiend extended himself to maintain his balance, opening his right flank to her momentarily. He was promptly rewarded by two fast jabs of the dull end into his temple, followed by a sideways slam that cracked his head and sent him face-first into bloodstained mud.

Distracted thusly, she couldn't prevent the shaman to retreat further away into the mass of frenzied carvers. He ran into the house frantically, in hopes of gaining a tactical advantage. His path was cut short by the greatsword of a skeleton warrior. The shaman gave a gargled cry of surprise and pain, dropping his staff to clutch at the meter-and-a-half long blade impaling him. He squirmed weakly as he was picked off the ground, the tip of the sword coming out of his back black with blood, and slammed into the side of the house with such force he was almost cloven in two.

The skeleton let the body fall from the sword, effortlessly swinging it about into offensive stance with a thin spray of blood. It stepped off the porch and opened its mouth in mute warcry, depths of its eyesockets glimmering with eldritch fire. Two nearby carvers were taken by surprise by the undead warrior's speed and were cut down immediately, others falling over themselves to escape the long blade's reach.

Eva allowed this small triumph to inspire her towards final victory, and aided by the Necromancer's sinister magic she redoubled her efforts toward the remaining shaman. For she knew well that until he, too, was dead, all efforts against the demons were little more than futile.

An incoming carver was stopped in mid-run with practiced thrust, warcry frozen on his lips as steel crunched viscerally through his ribcage. Two more met their end in pools of blood, impaled mercilessly. In the momentary lull in assault, Eva took a precarious moment to scan the battlefield ahead of her, searching for the last shaman over the din of battle.

To her left a patch of fresh bodies was scattered for a few meters and then more carvers were coming around from the treeline, advancing with eyes full of malice. To her distant right, the skeleton was ploughing through carvers inexorably, blood and limbs flying through air. Behind her, another carver was already rising from his own blood, shaking off the cobwebs of resurrection nausea.

Onwards, relentlessly.

More aid came from the warlock to her side unpredictably, as subtly and devastatingly as only he was capable of, carving another sharp turn in the flow of battle. One of the corpses on her left, scattered between her and fresh strike group of incoming carvers, twitched violently and then spontaneously erupted outwards. It was a sort of abrupt, wet clap as the body exploded violently, showering its surroundings with gore and tissue as the body's skeletal structure turned into mortal, high-speed shrapnel and its gasses ignited in fiery eruption. All around it, bodies burst into lethal deathtraps with staccato explosions, killing many of the proximate carvers and granting others final death.

The bulk of the remaining carvers was now clustered around their last shaman, more and more of their deceased brethren rising back to life. The blue devils took to a more cunning tactics, grouping themselves into units of three that quickly dashed in for a strike as a solitary carver distracted the enemy. Eva weaved her way through the battlefield, coming ever closer to the shaman.

The first trio attacked, two of them immediately meeting death with quick thrusts of the spear. The third one was faster, evading her strikes by a margin as he veered off at the last moment. His shield was cracked in two by the thrust of the spear as it slid across it, but he stumbled back into the rusty sword of the skeleton.

Eva pressed forward.

Behind her, the skeletal warrior offered a brief clearing as it halted the progress of carvers behind her back, momentarily relieving one flank for her. Eva took the chance and launched herself forward, dashing past a trio that attempted to skewer her, impaling two more as she closely avoided several scimitar slashes. She grit her teeth as a carver shoved a torch into her side, boiled leather dissipating the brunt of the blow. With lethal precision she deflected his next slash and disarmed him of his crude weapon in one flowing flourish of her spear, following on with a fast two-strike thrust combo to the face and neck. Leaving spasming bodies behind in blood, she moved ever closer to her target. The second shaman was churning his magic and cheering his kin into battle from around the corner, half-concealed behind a rotten porch support beam.

Noticing her relentless approach he fired off a hasty spell towards her, the fiery projectile scorching her side as it blasted past and into some corpses, igniting them in explosive blaze. Eva screamed with gritted teeth as she spinned off course, catching herself in a half-crouch. The carvers surrounding the only remaining shaman quickly rearranged into offensive formations to counterstrike against the resilient threat.

However, their intentions were cut short by a haze of debilitating magicka which rendered them blind. They dropped their weapons and stumbled about in senseless terror or just stood rooted with weapons flailing about in sightless mortification. Eva wondered little, but instead seized the opportunity granted to her and launched herself into the disarrayed carvers, skewering several on her way. The shaman noticed his predicament far too late for an expedient retreat, managing merely a frightened croak. Eva rushed through his disabled guard with singular resolve, roughly shoving away those that she didn't kill on her approach. The spear circled tightly as it thrust forward, her whole body extending to focus the impact. The carver shaman was impaled through neck, thrown backwards to splatter the wall with his dark blood. Wasting no time and spurred on by the rush of exhilaration at the shaman's death, she whirled about and made quick work of the nearby blinded carvers.

With shamans killed and most of their force shattered, the turning of the tide dawned painfully on the surviving carvers. Panic and dread overtook their vile hearts, propelling them into desperate retreat. They were quickly cut down on the run, either by Eva herself or the untiring skeleton warrior, or simply vanished into encroaching fog, to fall prey to a fate far more terrible and insidious.

Hoarse screams faded slowly into the damp muffled mist, all movement ceasing in the cold rain. Resting for a moment, Eva gathered her wits about her again, glancing around as she planted her spear in the mud with an air of grim finality.

The enemy was vanquished.

She started back toward the house, carefully making her way amidst corpses. She stopped to stab down into a carver who was writhing on the floor without a leg, flapping about in his own blood. The warlock was nowhere to be seen, but his skeletal servitor stood stoically at the ready, sword dripping with gore and bones painted with fresh blood. Eva suppressed the unease growing in her at the presence of such undead beings like she always did, forcing the spark of momentary panic from her mind. The skeleton ignored her, remaining deceptively motionless in its vigil.

She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow, leaving a long red smear across her forehead from the bloody glove. Leaning heavily on her spear, she let her gaze travel over the battleground as she took a moment to steady her breathing.

Fog was hanging low over the moor, partially covering the littered bodies and making everything seem more eerie, otherworldly like a surreal painting. Stench of blood and demons permeated the air, some of the torchlights still cracking weakly in the wet mud.

Rain drizzled on the quiet battlefield and Eva's face, slowly wiping away sweat and blood.

She glanced to her left, snapping from transfixion.

"We should head back soon, warlock."

The Necromancer walked closer, a soft shape melting out of misty gloom.

"We should," his eyes slowly moved over the darkened moors behind her.

Eva studied him wearily. He seemed to be unbothered by the icy rain. Of course he would be, he who always strived on everything that was bleak and dreary, all the antithesis of joy and light. She scoffed at her travelling companion; black cloak billowing in sharp wind, head bowed and features hidden in the deep hood.

The skeleton rattled into motion abruptly, startling her. Necromancer paused to stare at her over his shoulder for a long moment, then made into the wilderness determinedly.

She followed, and they faded into mist.


	2. Acquaintances

**Chapter I**

**Acquaintances**

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Rain drove into the soaked wooden palisades with erratic gusts of wind, unbothering the grim hooded figures dotted around the makeshift fortification. They, along with these soaked wooden walls, were the final barrier between the safe warmth of a cooking fire and the searing heat of a burial pyre, and this awareness weighed on them heavily at all times. A pair of these ever- vigilant sentries guarded the main entrance to the encampment, the heavy door raised for faster traffic. Large point-sharpened logs, nailed and tied together with thick ropes, the same kind that held it suspended in the makeshift mechanism of pulleys, would drop down if danger arose to block access to any assailants. Such a thing would also mean that the demons have managed to wrestle the hold of Blood Moor from the Rogues, and would be indicative of a desperate situation indeed.

But there was no such danger at the present yet, and those sheltered within the relative safety of the walls of the encampment could sleep under the blanket of false calm. The two door sentries watched with keen gaze an approaching pair through a curtain of rain, as they have been for a while now. There was little cover on the open plain spreading outwards from the Rogue camp, and these new arrivals made little effort to conceal their presence. Groups of Rogues patrolled the Blood Moor, with several smaller war camps settled in critical spots around the grassy plain. Little if no demonic minions made their way this deep in, even if their attacks had intensified lately. Most were held off by the main guard forces on the edge of Cold Plains, and those that managed to break through the lines were picked off by the Rogue patrols continuously sweeping the Blood Moor.

Regardless, the sentries were cautious. Assuming things was the fastest way to a grave in these times, as the Rogues have learned the hard way. The two were close enough now to be discernible to the eye, enough even to be only a quick sprint away. They halted a few long steps away from the Rogue guards, not least in respect of pointedly armed bows.

One of the sentries gasped, immediately drawing an arrow.

"It's a nefarious Necromancer!"

"Wait!" the other one made a halting gesture with her hand. "An Amazon. If they were bearing ill intent they would not have made it through the outer perimeter. Regardless of the Necromancer," she added uncertainly.

The first one turned to her companion incredulously, eye sparkling under the hood.

"We were supposed to be _protecting_ this camp from the forces of darkness, not letting them in in our midst!"

"She is our sister, a traveller in need and most of all someone who fights on our side!" the other one protested.

The first Rogue was not so easily convinced, eyeing the cloaked pair again with suspicion.

"For all we know she could be under the vile one's influence! She could be undead!"

"She looks very much alive to me."

Eva raised a halting hand irately.

"Do you not recognize us? We are two of the those who came here to fight the devils. Our tent is over there."

She pointed in general direction of the small amassment of tents in the northern area of the large camp. The two Rogues followed her gloved finger, then exchanged mutually confused looks. Without waiting for a reply, Eva stepped boldly into the inner walls past the uncertain pair, the Necromancer taking special care to rudely bump into one of them with his shoulder.

Many fires burned around the encampment, cooking fires in front of individual tents as well as those simply for light and warmth as twilight already hung heavily over the land. The rain persisted, making along with low-hung mist the moors look even more colourless and bleak as they normally were. The Necromancer curled his lips in quiet distaste as they marched on through mud.

"I am surprised this encampment is still standing, with such brilliant minds at post."

Eva made an indelicate sound, not even turning to him as she frowned. Up ahead, a large bonfire was being set up for the night, with Rogues and various other people skittering about busily. She noted that many of these foreigners wore long, flowing robes and tunics so characteristic of the Eastern peoples – most likely merchants and drivers from a passing caravan. Others were yet more rag-tag, sporting various types of armour and clothing, but almost uniformly everything about these screamed 'seasoned warrior'.

No doubt, many local farmers as well as lesser nobles, if one was to judge by expensive attires, came to Rogues' aid as the demonic threat appeared. Rightly so, for the wellbeing of this entire region depended heavily on the Order, both for their commercial and military services, as well as for the strategic location of the ancient monastery the Order was situated in. Eva turned toward the main tent dominating the Rogue encampment, sprawling behind the cattle pens and always bustling with activity.

The large central tent was made as a dining area of sorts, also doubling as commons for the weary adventurers; the sisters of the Order mostly lingered in their own, separate tents. Oil lamps and impromptu candlesticks illuminated the smoky interior, smudging the atmosphere into a haze of warm familiarity. The long, rectangular tent was currently bristling with activity, groups of mercenaries and local farmers huddling together around cheap ale, while the obviously more aristocratic individuals yet kept to themselves. They observed their rowdy, uninhibited inferiors with obvious contempt over their cups of wine and kept sending degrading looks all around.

Immediately a wave of hushed murmur passed the crowd as they entered, those that didn't recognise the Necromancer by his vestments alerted to him by the rumour preceding him. All eyes followed them as they made their way amidst the tables, reflecting various negative emotions in varying degrees. Peasants stepped out of their way hastily, while more noble warriors retreated with careful nonchalance in such a way as not to appear cowardly.

Eva held no illusions as to the fear and wonder; competent and fearsome warriors were a common sight in the Rogue encampment, esoteric adepts of magic which was, to a peasant's mind, indistinguishable to that wielded by the demons outside were not. She cared little for such attention, as well. All she cared for now was something warm and respite from the edge of endless battle. There were some things which could wear down even the most eager warrior, strike despair and resignation even into the most courageous heart.

They paused, sweeping the tent with challenging eyes. Things gradually returned to previous levels of careless alcoholic stagnation; living nextdoor to demonic marauders tends to dull one's sense of awe.

A burst of laughter broke out somewhere among the long benches in the back, but it was a thin veneer of laughter that covered the deep razed marks of this sinister war. It was a war like no other, far too terrible to be surpassed by mere works of men, and to just as easily fade to ink of yellowed parchment. A war to end all wars, not a cleansing but corruption, dreadful and ominous, and all the while directing the material plane into an irreversible collision with Hell. The rush of continuous nightmare could age a man well before his time, _if_ he survived the physical danger at all.

Eva couldn't help but notice how worn out and bleak the men and women they walked amongst truly were.

She lead the way towards the back, a short table holding a single occupant. The man was apparently a barbarian, if one was to judge by his scarce armour and characteristically large physique. He was nursing a metal tankard of mead, his scowl gradually deepening with the pair's approach. His long dark red hair fell over his face in greasy strands as he peered up at them with a grim, hostile face. They stopped in front of his table, with Eva indicating the empty bench inquiringly.

"Are the seats taken?"

The barbarian ignored her, his wild eyes intently fixed on the Necromancer instead.

"Keep your distance, witchman," he warned menacingly.

"Peace," Eva calmed, catching his gaze. "No need for that kind of talk. Surely we can put aside our differences as so many others have?"

She seated herself on the bench opposite of him, Necromancer taking a place beside her nonchalantly. The barbarian seemed uncertain, his red brows furrowing in discontent. Some of the people at nearby tables watched them with hungry interest.

"My name is Eva," she supplied curtly, with firm intent to bridge hostilities.

The man kept his eyes on her, occasionally flickering them to the Necromancer.

"I am Borrn," he offered reluctantly. "Of Clan Black Bear. I have come from the North to battle the encroaching darkness here, and gain honour and glory."

He turned a pointed look on the Eva's dark companion, expectantly. There was a brief pause as the Necromancer studied him disdainfully.

"My name is none of your concern."

Borrn scowled darkly at this, his tone growing colder.

"Shall I just call you 'Necromancer', then?"

He shrugged slowly.

"You may address me as Priest, for I am a Priest of Rathma."

Borrn's expression remained suspicious as he sneered at him. Priest stared back at him stoically, meeting his eyes with a sort of bored look.

"I just call him 'warlock'," Eva broke the tension again with pointed informality, then continued matter-of-factly. "Have you had much success in battling the demons?"

Borrn made a sour face as he looked back at her, then threw a dark glance across the tent as he spoke.

"I'm not part of any larger organized group, and I would not be any better for it if I was. The last adventurer group that went for Stony Field returned decimated, and those that lived were never same again."

He said the words as if with some disapproval, but Eva couldn't quite discern the cause.

"Only the Rogues can patrol the moor without getting slaughtered," he continued with a desolate tone. "But even that has changed lately, for the worse."

Eva crossed her arms and stretched her legs under the table.

"Why do you say that?"

"The Rogues are suspicious of strangers," he said simply. "They won't talk about things, things that should be known to folk."

"What things?"

Borrn looked at Priest pointedly, as if reluctant to discuss matters in his presence.

"You may speak freely!"

Eva began impatiently, but she paused as Priest whispered something in her ear, then rose with a clank of metal and swish of dark cloth. Borrn followed him with his eyes for a moment as he wound his way through the crowd, then turned back to Eva. He studied her guardedly for a long while, to her apparent indifference.

"The Rogues are losing more ground each day," he said gravely, frowning into his mead. "I've heard talk of amassment of demonic forces not far from this camp, from where they are launching these nightly attacks."

Eva scowled in thought, leaning forward to be heard over the din of drunken singing.

"Where have you heard that?"

Borrn shrugged, throwing back his tankard.

"Here and there. I've talked to a pair of Rogue advance scouts, and they said every patrol that is sent out returns with heavy losses," he paused to raise his eyebrows and lower his voice dramatically. "_If_ it returns at all."

Eva leaned back to regard him critically. It was true that the encampment has been pressed hard recently, with progressively larger and better organized groups of demons besieging the Rogues. Moments of respite such as this were becoming scarce and far in between.

The sound of a wine pitcher breaking somewhere in the far corner of the tent brought her from her thoughts. She glanced up, Borrn was still watching her with that look, a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

"You are a long way from your home, Amazon," he started gravely. "Maybe you came all this way just to die."

Eva lashed him with a quickly narrowed look.

"I could say the same thing for you, warrior."

Borrn grunted with dark amusement, clenching his mug tightly in one large hand.

"I'm not afraid to die. If I die here it means I will die like a warrior, and I will be honoured in the great halls of the Ancestors. That is all a Clansman could ever ask for."

Despite the resolve in his words Eva also thought she sensed a hint of sorrow, a bitter resignation to one's fate. She let the silence hang for a moment. Behind them, a small group of local men-at-arms stomped by, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about killing demons.

"That is a bleak outlook for someone claiming to seek glory," Eva commented casually.

Borrn watched her with clear annoyance.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he dismissed blandly.

Eva considered something for a long time, then looked at him resolutely.

"Maybe we could work together against this evil? Two blades are better than one after all, and three better than two."

Borrn snorted in amused disbelief, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"There are plenty of other skilled warriors in this camp, why would I join up with you?" he paused for a moment, his tone hardening. "I might consider it if it was just you, Amazon, but I won't have anything to do with..._him_. It's bad luck to deal with a witchman."

Eva's expression fell in some suppressed indignation.

"If that's what you want, so be it," she said coldly, standing. "But you might change your mind sooner than you think. May Athulua have mercy on your stubborn soul."

Borrn stared after her irritably for a moment, then rose to go pour himself another pitcher of mead from a barrel.

O O O

Gheed observed the commotion around him with a surly eye, muttering unpleasantries to himself. The camp was busy with Rogues on their errands, and fools trying to find a new, inventive ways of getting themselves killed. Because going outside the limits of this encampment was exactly that, he mused darkly as he rearranged some jewellery on display.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a tall man approaching and quickly dusted off his faded fur coat and put on his most charming smile. He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture as he ascertained that the man was indeed moving toward his wagon.

"Good day to you, partner! I'm Gheed, the purveyor of finest goods and weaponry in this forsaken camp. If you're looking for the best of the best for as cheap as possible you've come to the right place!"

The man stopped before him, appraising him quickly with sharp green eyes. His ginger hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and had a greyed streak running through it.

"I need some amulets," he said with strange awkward terseness, as if one unused to speaking more than necessary.

Gheed licked his lips slowly, trying to get a feel for his newest customer. Outwardly, he maintained his demeanor of false joviality.

"Amulets, you say? Well, I have lots of amulets! Just take your pick, but make sure you have the correct amount of gold before touching anything. Even magic tends to wear off if too many people fondle the item, you know."

That was completely fabricated, of course, but Gheed didn't like people who couldn't afford to buy things wasting his time. The man readjusted the large wolfskin he wore as a cape over his shoulders to reach into the pack hanging from his side.

Gheed watched intently as he pulled out a lump of gold roughly the size of his fist.

"Will this do?"

Gheed had to support himself on the wagon frame for a moment, doing his best to maintain his carefully constructed expression. He nodded furiously, swallowing thickly as he marvelled at the raw nugget. He cleared his throat forcefully, forcing his eyes back up at the Druid's face for a tiny moment while trying to appear as casual as possible.

"And where have you found such a...thing, if I may ask?"

"Nature rewards its servants bountifully," the man said simply. "This came from the mountains of the North, straight from the earth's nourishing bosom."

"Indeed," Gheed croaked, unable to take his eyes off the lump of gold.

The man let his hand drop back to his side, glancing over the wares on display.

"So what will it get me?"

Gheed quickly snapped into motion, indicating his equipment with a sweep of the hand.

"Oh, you can buy much for such a little treasure. Of course," he sniffed calculatively, his mind working feverishly with figures. "It's unprocessed and unstamped, so its worth would be diminished when compared to equal weight in coin."

The man regarded him in eerie silence for a moment.

"Do not try to swindle me. I am not a fool."

Gheed affected a hurt expression, resting one hand over wounded heart.

"I would _never_ do such a thing, it's preposterous to even suggest it! Coin loses its value a little more every day with this war, and raw gold even more so," he quickly shifted into a conspiratorial mode, lowering his voice and all. "But tell you what; since I want only the best for my customers, and I understand these are difficult times, I'll let you choose any three enchanted pendants you want in exchange for that cumbersome rock."

The man's face remained stony as he glanced at the stand behind Gheed.

"Three pendants and one ring," he bartered.

Gheed gasped with fake indignation.

"Are you crazy? That's stealing from right under my nose! Daylight robbery!"

"There are other traders here in the camp," the man pointed out simply, but effectively.

Gheed held out a halting hand in most dramatic manner.

"There may be other traders, but none of them holds the kind of stock I have. Quality is guaranteed! I sell nothing but premium items! I tell you, friend, I have not yet had a dissatisfied customer," he averred, omitting the fact that life expectancy of his customers was even lower than his warranty.

"Three pendants and a ring," the Druid repeated, unrelenting.

Gheed gave a long sigh of frustration, hanging his head.

"Alright!" he threw his hand up in defeat. "You can have your damn ring as well! I must be out of my mind to sell such unique and incredibly powerful items at such a rate."

He held out one hand, nodding back to the jewellery stand behind him meaningfully. The man deposited his gold in the waiting hand and stepped past Gheed with a wary glance. Gheed turned the nugget in his hands gleefully, all the while watching from the corner of his eye how the Druid gathered the enchanted items reluctantly, as if he was harbouring some deep-seated distrust of them.

"Mind you," he added off-handedly. "The exact functions of these arcane artefacts is unknown, they would need to be identified by a powerful sage or a mage to discover their function. Such great knowledge simply can't be available to just any common peasant."

The man paused in lacing his bag, scowling at him.

"Or," Gheed smiled lucratively, pocketing the nugget somewhere under his coat. "You could just use the magical identification scrolls, which I also sell at a very cheap price."

Somewhere in the dark distance, thunder rumbled lazily.

O O O

It started raining again. Eva groaned, pulling her cape around her irately as she quickened her step. Even through the wool and leather she could feel the coolness of the raindrops, permeating to the very bone it seemed. Or perhaps it came from within, this chill, constricting and numbing. Crystallizing all thoughts into the same morass she trod through.

She found the warlock conversing something with that easterner Warriv. The man spoke in crisp, clear tones that were readily audible even over the constant background noise of the camp. So contrasting to the normally subdued phrasings of her companion, whose only indication that he was speaking were an occasional gesture or Warriv's attentive focus.

She stopped a little distance away, waiting for the conversation to finish then nodding inquisitively at him. Priest acknowledged, coming over in few long strides.

"There is someone you should meet. The leader of these estranged Rogues."

Eva's brows knit in perplexion.

"I have already spoken to Kashya."

Priest guided her along as they talked, toward the small concentration of tents in the south-eastern part of the camp, more heavily guarded by vigilant archers and solemn Rogues.

"She is just a war commander; I speak of their true leader, the High Priestess."

Eva spared him a curious sideways glance as they made their way through mud and scattering chickens, past wagons and scrutinizing eyes of the local peasants taking shelter in the camp.

Priest looked at the two Rogues in mail armour standing a bit to the side of the nondescript tent pointedly, and they seemingly made no reply. Only their eyes spoke, of some vague disgust and annoyed toleration, but most importantly of acknowledgement.

He ushered Eva into the tent and followed behind.

Immediately she was engulfed in the soft light of the interior, a certain exotic scent, unfamiliar yet deeply nostalgic, permeating the air. A solitary oil lamp cast soft, flickering shadows over every item and face, giving them a subtly eerie impression. Herbs hung low from the makeshift wooden stands, ancient-looking shelves holding strangely coloured concoctions and powders in myriad of flasks and jars.

The most striking thing, however, was a figure standing amidst the clutter and trunks; an aged woman clad in cloak of vibrant purple, radiating grace and serenity.

Priest presented Eva with a simple look, as if it contained many more words spoken recently.

"This is Eva."

After this, he stood back to seemingly blend with the shadows flickering through the corners of the tent, like a statue. The woman now focused her attention solely on her, keen eyes set in elegantly aged face. Eva stared back, uncertain. Purple robes made a faint rustling sound as she moved closer, never moving her studious eyes from Eva's face.

When she spoke it was in warm, yet subtly wary tone, her words edged by some noble dignity and that knowing confidence common to all magical adepts.

"Greetings, Amazon. I do not believe we have been introduced yet. I am Akara, High Priestess of the Order of the Sightless Eye."

Eva nodded stiffly, meeting her eyes.

"I am Eva, as you know," she hesitated momentarily, not really knowing what to say. "I have come a long way to aid in destruction of this threat."

Akara smiled benevolently, but it was more a gesture of politeness than true kindness.

"I am glad that you have come here, in a way," she stepped toward a shelf filled with multicoloured vials, glancing over the glassware distantly. "In my opinion, the world needs more women to fight against the great shadow."

Eva followed Akara with her eyes, unable to keep the tension completely from her voice. She seated herself with stately elegance, unable to fully conceal her weariness.

"We can offer you but a poor shelter within these rickety walls, I am afraid. The demons gain ground with each passing day, and our own ranks diminish."

Her eyes grew distant as she spoke, absently touching the emerald necklace on her bosom.

"No matter," Eva kept her tone businesslike. "We have not come here for shelter. We have come to cleanse the land and restore Order."

Akara nodded slowly, making a knowing sound.

"Many have – and many died. I wish you to be more fortunate than those that came before you," she cast a brief glance at the shadowed Necromancer.

Eva suppressed the distant feeling of unease this whole situation instilled in her. She already opened her mouth when Akara spoke again, her words slow and carefully measured.

"There is something you should know, Eva. We are not doing nearly as well in our battle than it may seem on the first glance. In fact, it seems like the scales are starting to weigh out of our favour."

Eva scowled at this, mildly alarmed.

"What do you mean?"

Akara gave a long, pensive exhale as she studied her carefully.

"I fear I can say no more at this time. Kashya's lieutenants report that you have proven yourself to be a capable warrior. Know that there will soon be need for capable warriors like yourself, know this and be ready."

"Why can't you tell me what is happening?"

Akara stood again, offering a tight smile.

"You will be told when all is ready, when _we_ are ready," she stepped closer, carefully folding her hands in front of her in a somber gesture. "I am glad you came to see me. May the Great Eye watch over you, and protect you in your battles."

Eva understood the subtle hint, but refused to be dismissed so easily.

"I want to know what is this threat you speak of," she stood her ground.

"Eva," the warlock interrupted, drawing her attention fully to himself. "There is nothing more to be said. There are other matters to attend to."

He indicated the tent flap with his head pointedly. She paused in uncertainty, staring at Priest quizzically. He stared back, and his eyes told her nothing.

"And you?" she inquired defiantly.

There was a long moment of silence, during which the whistling of the wind outside could be heard.

"I will join you shortly," he said in subdued tones, turning meaningful eyes back to waiting Akara. "I shall stay with High Priestess for a moment, so that we may discuss...some _other_ matter."

Eva didn't like what she was hearing, but she said nothing as she bent through the tent's flap, back into the cool night. Wind struck her in the face, faint but cold, smelling of rain and dirt.

The rain had ceased, leaving behind the ever-bland morass of mud and wetness. She used to like rain before coming to this bleak place. Now she hated it. She only hoped this terrible war wouldn't despoil for her everything once loved and cherished, as it had already made a burnt-out husk of so many precious things, now forever lost. Things, and...people.

Something cracked under her feet, causing her to look down. It was broken glass of potion bottles, trampled into mud like tiny shards of light. She let out an irritated breath, feeling a strange kind of unsettlement lying heavily at the bottom of her mind. A brief glance about told her that most of the camp's occupants have retreated into rest as evening turned to night, several fires still flickering in the oppressive darkness.

Eva wondered just what he meant by 'shortly'. The warlock didn't seem to share his perception of time with most people. Her weariness chased any annoyance and speculation from her thoughts; he would know where to find her, as he always did.

The Rogue guards observed her stoically, as suspicious as ever.

She paid them no heed and made her way back toward the central tent.


	3. Ill Portents

**Chapter II**

**Ill Portents**

* * *

Eva pulled on her boots tiredly. Her hair, unkempt and clumped together from restless repose, hung spread over her shoulders like ragged webbing.

She did not sleep well.

The night was filled with strange, unsettling sounds, cries and roars in the distance. Even if one was to forget the nature of hell outside these walls amongst the humans here, one still couldn't completely escape it. Standing, she brushed her hair with an old, cracked and fairly toothless hairbrush, the wood protesting under the pulls. Her eyes quickly examined the tent around her. She was unsurprised to find the warlock's bedroll untouched, she would have woken if he had returned anyhow.

He rarely spent the night in their tent, and Eva had no notion of asking him where he went or what his business there was. Some things were better left unknown, especially where dark forces were concerned.

She tied her hair back in a high ponytail and stepped outside. The morning was choked by the onset of fog lying heavy over the moors. It made everything seem that much more eerie, reducing the sun to a smeared, glowing blob.

Rogues moved about the camp with confident steps, their discipline shining through with every move, even in times such as these. Eva turned toward where the Rogue leaders' tents were, now determined more than ever to get some cooperation.

Warriv delayed her, approaching with his ever-present curved smile and light gait. He seemed to know everyone in the camp, and was on equally amicable terms with all. Eva wondered cynically if his optimism wasn't just a well constructed mask, like so many things about this place. But just looking at him, one had a difficult time imagining that his demeanor was nothing more than a façade. He flashed a wide, friendly smile up at her.

"Hello, my friend," he frowned for a moment, as if pulling something from his memory. "Eva, yes?"

She nodded tersely, and it made his smile wider.

"Ah, I am glad you are unharmed. Truly there are terrible dangers preying on the warriors outside these walls," he shot a quick, musing look toward the north-western part of the camp, where Gheed's wagon was, and added more quietly. "And sometimes even within. But enough of that, I hope you are well this morning?"

"Busy," she replied tersely, not really in the best of moods.

"Ah, I see. Well, I am looking for your Necromancer companion. Is he around?"

Eva was immediately intrigued, but didn't let it show.

"I haven't seen him," she noted how her reply mildly surprised Warriv, but he maintained his enthusiastic momentum. "What do you need with him?"

He hesitated for a brief moment.

"Oh, nothing important. He expressed some interest in my native lands, and we had a nice talk. I have some books he wanted to study yesterday, so I thought I would find him today while I still have the chance."

Eva was idly focused on the whiteness of his teeth as he spoke, wondering if they really were that white or if it was only the contrast with his skin that made them seem so. She also didn't miss the implication of his words; many people left for battle each day, but far fewer returned at the end of it.

They studied each other for a moment.

"Have you been here for long, Warriv?"

Warriv adjusted his turban with practiced hands.

"For much longer than I would like, I'm afraid. But I see that you have questions and it would be unpleasant to have a conversation outside in such weather. Would you care to join me in my tent? It is much drier and warm, and we can have a sour drink to loosen our minds."

Eva squinted around the camp and thought about the offer. The warlock was nowhere in sight, and there was still time before she planned on going to the moors again. In the meantime, she could gather some valuable information.

"Alright," she indicated for him to lead the way. "But I don't have much time."

Warriv smiled with hospitable delight, as sincere as if they were in the shade of a dry bazaar on a hot summer day.

"Do you know High Priestess well?" Eva asked as they fell into a brisk step side by side.

Warriv glanced at her curiously.

"Akara? Not really, but how many of the outsiders can say to know any of the Order well? I would often take caravans to the West through the mountain pass, so I did get to know the Rogues of the Citadel a bit," he paused for a moment, somberly. "Akara is a good woman. This demonic plague is weighing heavily upon her, and more so, I suspect, the Rogues' impotence against the demons."

"At least they fight back," Eva said blandly as they entered the section of the camp populated by the traders and mercenaries of Warriv's caravan. "As long as they do, they stand a chance against this corruption."

Warriv made a meaningful sound.

"And hopefully with the help of warriors such as you those chances will be greater. Ah, here we are."

He indicated the large, oddly-shaped, brown and grey striped tent. Two men in leather and soaked tunics stood by its entrance, their complexions equally weathered and sunformed as Warriv's, their unease at the foreign environment apparent. Warriv threw some unfamiliar words to the sentries as they passed, presumably to lift their spirits, but it had little effect. He sighed as they entered the large tent, and Eva noticed for the first time the little wrinkles around his eyes, and the bags under them.

They were so much more visible when he didn't smile.

Layered carpets covered the floor inside the tent, various exotic trinkets and scrolls piled on boxes and a small, squat table. Her boots only added to the trampled mud caking the faded carpets, a sad reminder of an unreachable glamour of the homeland.

"Please, have a seat," Warriv offered an old chair, strange in its round and backless design. "I know just the thing to improve your mood."

Eva followed him with her eyes as he stepped back outside for a moment, where he took a small copper pot off the fire. He poured a soupy black drink first for her and then for himself, in thick, etched glasses. She took the offering reluctantly, studying its appearance and then taking a tentative sip.

"Coffee, by the traditional family recipe," he observed her from under his brow expectantly. "Are you refreshed and reinvigorated?"

"And slightly nauseated," she muttered weakly.

Warriv gave a hearty laugh, and she wondered if there was anything that could cripple the will of this man.

"Yes, it does tend to have such effect on foreigners; I'll admit it is strong, but such is the recipe."

He pulled up another low stool for himself, measuring her with expectant eyes. Eva took an idle moment to appreciate the coffee after-taste, during which her eyes took in her surroundings again.  
The strange design of pitchers and ornaments, coupled with Warriv's charismatic presence, made the atmosphere in the tent pleasantly warm. She leaned forward slightly in inquiry.

"So what were those books the warlock wanted to see?"

Warriv looked at her with his keen brown eyes, his brows furrowing a little.

"Caravan logs, actually. I can't for the life of me imagine why anyone would be interested in those boring accounts, when there is such furious activity just outside these walls," he commented with his usual oddly mirthful tone.

Eva had already grown accustomed that it was just the way he spoke, and it did make for a relaxing conversationalist. She made a pensive sound, in such a way it was unclear for him to guess whether she might or might not know exactly what the warlock's motives were.

"Most people find his involvement with the dead off-putting," she said off-handedly, but there was a question implied in her tone and look.

Warriv shrugged modestly.

"I try to keep an open mind – one has to, if one wants to be successful in my profession. But I must say, it is not something I understand, or feel completely at ease with," his face darkened and his tone turned grave. "When the dead return to prey upon the living, it is a terror beyond understanding."

Eva could not help but agree silently.

There was a momentary lull in the conversation, that particular silence when the words spoken still haven't fully faded, but neither has anything relevant to say. Warriv studied her with astute curiosity.

"I confess I don't know much about your people," he began conversationally. "I have had rare dealings with them, and what I know is mostly hearsay."

Eva leaned forward with a creak of leather and rested her arms on her knees, her glass held between them. She seemed amused.

"And is there anything specific you would like to know?"

Warriv's eyes glinted with that knowing mischief for a moment.

"Well, I did always wonder if Amazon women are really as dominant as they say?"

She regarded him enticingly in the ensuing expectant silence.

"I can't speak for others, but I like to be in charge of things," her slightly curved lips suggested a predator's delight.

A momentary glimpse of devilish nature amidst rigid mantle of perseverance. Warriv sipped his coffee with a grin. She turned the glass in her hands slowly as she studied him, that spark of life gone from her face as quickly as it came.

"You seem to know many people in this camp. Tell me something, there is a Barbarian from up North that goes by the name of Borrn. He is tall, with a beard and red hair, wears scarce leather," he nodded quickly, indicating he knew to whom she was referring. "I think he arrived recently. Have you met him yet?"

Warriv made a knowing sound, sipping his hot drink loudly.

"He keeps to himself, mostly. I have seen him around, though I must say I have not spoken to him yet. There used to be new people coming into camp almost every day," he shrugged his shoulders in a sort of helpless gesture. "But lately less and less come. There is not that many left, I suppose."

Eva ponderously furrowed her brow, the warmth from the glass making her fingers tingle pleasantly.

"Did he catch your eye?"

She looked up at Warriv and back at her cup again, in mild surprise at the question.

"He appears to be a capable warrior," she explained brusquely. "Considering the reputation of his people, he would make a strong ally."

Warriv regarded her for a moment before agreeing.

"There _is_ a certain air about him."

He knew of what she spoke; of that intangible, indescribable quality that hung about people whose lives were so permeated by warfare that even the ignorant and inexperienced recognized it on some unconscious level. A certain aura of quiet confidence that was more than simple bravado or over exaggerated aggression born out of fear. It was a characteristic kind of bearing that signified a mindset that was willing to fight _anyone_ to the death if need be, and most probably has done so on numerous occasions.

Warriv had met many such people in his travels, the Paladins from far East returning from lengthy crusades, hardened and grizzled veterans that defied the stereotype of a holy warrior; what scarce Barbarians he had come in contact with during his trade runs all without exception radiated this grim resolve; the resilient nomads of the Aranoch desert, prepared to do whatever it may take to survive in the harsh and hostile climate of the dunes – these he knew well.

And now, Amazons.

He contemplated Eva with renewed curiosity.

"Have you ever been to the East, to Lut Gholein? It's a beautiful city, truly a jewel of the desert. I miss its sunsets and clear night sky, without fog or endless rain," his face momentarily cleared of all weariness as he spoke of his homeland, gaze dissolved in comforting memories. "I hope to return there as soon as I can, away from all these nightmares," he snapped from his thoughts, looking at Eva attentively. "I'll take you along, if you are still alive. That is, if you don't have any other plans."

Eva took her time taking a drink of her coffee before answering, watching him over the rim of her glass.

"The demons have to be defeated here first," she pointed out.

"Of course," Warriv nodded quickly. "The Rogue Monastery must be taken back from the demons before we'll be going anywhere. But I'm wary of waiting here for too long. Something dreadful happened in Tristram, and I'm afraid it will soon spread to consume us all. As soon as the Monastery's Gates are re-opened and the countryside is made a little safer, I am taking the caravan back east."

Eva's fingers idly tapped against the glass in her hands, while her eyes cycled around the room slowly in thought.

"Speaking of which, something important seems to be happening but the Rogues are as tight-lipped as ever. They are definitely preparing for something. I hear that the demons are getting stronger, more organized. Have you heard anything, or talked to any of their Lieutenants?"

"They don't tell me much, you know. Akara has been preoccupied with tending the wounded and such, and Kashya, well..." he smiled faintly to himself, looking up at Eva with that glint in his eye. "She is a special kind of woman. Not too keen on strangers."

"But something is amiss?" she persisted.

Warriv put his glass on the table slowly, pensively.

"There seems to be a shift in the air, a sense of urgency falling over our Rogue hosts, like you said. It could be because of the more frequent attacks recently," he speculated.

Eva now watched him with careful interest, agreeing.

"The demons are breaking through the Rogue patrols in the Blood Moor more often. That can't be a good sign."

Warriv glanced at her from under his brow, resting his chin on interlaced hands.

"Whatever it is that has the Rogues alarmed, we have not fallen yet," he looked down for a moment, thinking some gloomy thoughts. "But there are things out there beyond any dark dream."

"Maybe it is better we don't know what is waiting for us," Eva said with a distinct hint of bitterness in her voice. "Sometimes knowing your enemy is a terrible burden."

Warriv brightened again as a quirky proverb sprung from his memory.

"He who fights the dark unknown should at least know himself better!" he declared in that half-sagely tone of his, straightening.

She blinked, snapping from her thoughts to look at him with her large eyes. They were blue and clear like the midday sky over the desert. They stared at each other for a moment in silence, then his attention was drawn to the nearly empty cup in her hands.

"Another one?" Warriv arched his thick brows inquiringly.

Eva shook her head mutely, plunging them into further silence. He rose abruptly with a small noise, as if a thought just struck him, fluidly stepping over to the hardwood boxes stacked in the back of the tent. One of them was already opened, the weather-worn lid leaned against it. He searched through the box for a moment, then, smiling, returned with his prize – a book.

Eva quickly deposited her glass cup on the table and took the offered book curiously, marvelling at the elaborate heavy covers and luxurious binding. The covers were worn but still very much exquisitely filigreed, ornate patterns carved into the silver. Book itself felt heavy in her hands, the covers contributing more to its weight than the relatively average thickness of the written material within.

"It is one of my favourites," Warriv explained enthusiastically. "I have read through it enough times to know it by heart."

"_The Truth and the Government_," Eva read the title outloud slowly.

"Yes, written by Euandros, a Horadric battlemage and philosopher of old. It's an exploration of an ideal sovereign, a reconstruction of a governing mechanism through Horadrim ethics, mostly in the form of a dialogue. But it is also so much more," his eyes rested on the old book in her hands with a soft smile. "There is something about its unfettered idealism and conviction that never fails to lift my spirits."

Eva leafed through the pages carefully as he spoke, taking in the odd sentence here and there, meticulously illuminated initials and elegant hand.

"Beautiful," she murmured, closing it shut and running her scraped fingers over the etched cover.

"Keep it," Warriv said suddenly, surprising her.

She whipped her head up at him in startlement.

"What?"

"Keep it," Warriv repeated, unfazed by her scepticism. "It's yours. May it help you know yourself better, so that you can better combat the darkness ahead."

Eva shifted uncomfortably, glancing from the book in her hands and back to him.

"I don't have much gold..."

"Please," Warriv held up his hands in false indignation. "Don't insult me. It is a gift, because you seem like someone who would appreciate it. Not much other use for these books now. I had almost a full wagonload of these rare tomes for a western nobleman who ordered them specially, for a special price."

He sat back down slowly, making a tired sound.

"Unfortunately he was killed in a skirmish with demons before I could deliver the shipment to him," he looked up, seeking her eyes with a poignant sound. "And now I am stuck here with nothing but old books and humourless Rogues to keep me company."

Corners of Eva's mouth quirked up at his tone, there was just something so very disarming about his manner.

"Then I'll be sure to keep you company more often. It is the least I can do to repay such a gift."

"I shall look forward to these occasions," he replied graciously, inclining his head slightly.

Eva carefully wrapped the book in some leather and secured it in her pack.

"Thank you again. I must be going now," she rose slowly.

Warriv quickly rose with her.

"Of course, I fear I might have taken too much of your time already."

"No, it was...nice."

Oddly enough, she found herself loathe to depart, and this surprised her. Somehow, Warriv's company had been refreshing and comforting, even _pleasant_. For a few minutes she had forgotten about the wailing of inevitable death outside his tent.

"Come speak with me again soon," Warriv escorted her out congenially.

Outside, the wind seemed much more colder than she remembered.

The fog had cleared somewhat, but not nearly enough to lift the despondency that felt thick in the air around her. This condensed, smudged atmosphere made people appear like some vague, shambling figures, and gave even the most innocuous crate or wagon an air of subtle menace. From outside of the Rogue fortifications, some disturbing sounds drifted in that _might_ have been the wolves. But she doubted it.

Eva decided it would be provident to seek out the warlock and take some action.

She found him in conversation with some Rogues outside of their barrack-tents. Or perhaps conversation wasn't the best term to describe their interaction. A small group formed a half-circle around him, their faces reflecting fear, wariness, and, most of all, some deep-seated curiosity. One, a particularly burly Rogue, indicated his long white hair mockingly.

"Do you ever get mistaken for a woman, Necromancer?"

Priest turned to her coolly.

"No. You?"

She flushed furiously, sending sharp looks at her sisters who fought hard to contain their snickers. Eva walked up through their midst to him, dividing their attention and interrupting the banter. Priest acknowledged her idly as she approached.

"Warlock, a word."

He observed her smugly with a crooked smile, but it was not a pleasant kind of humour.

"One, or several?"

Eva ignored his barbs and adopted a severe expression.

"I would like to talk to you about something."

Seeing as the Necromancer engaged in conversation with Eva, the Rogues slowly dispersed. Priest made a vague gesture, indicating for her to speak. Eva noticed several new vials and flasks of varying colours on his belt. She seated herself over by a large rock, losing no verbal momentum.

"About Akara...did she ask to see me yesterday?"

Priest paused for a pensive moment, leaning carelessly on a creaking wooden fence.

"Yes and no," he offered blandly. "I also thought it relevant that you meet her, and get to know her. And so you did."

Eva scowled in discontentment, some thoughts visibly bothering her.

"Not as much as I would like. What did she mean by what she said?"

Priest glanced at her askance, scowling into a small pouch he retrieved from his belt.

"I wouldn't know."

She frowned.

"Then why didn't you let me get some answers from her?" irritation was clear in her voice now. "All this secrecy and pride is doing Rogues more harm than good."

Priest replaced the pouch on his belt and smiled thinly, but not at her; toward the clouded sky.

"Do you think you would have gotten them?" he pulled his eyes back down to roam the distant gloom. "Akara would have told you nothing, and she doesn't strike me as the easily intimidated type."

Eva gave a frustrated breath, tensing her gloves compulsively.

"I don't like being treated like some peasant cowering from the dark. How are we ever going to win this war if we don't work together?"

Priest turned a slow, cynical look on her.

"Don't waste time with idiots, Eva," he said in measured tone.

"It's not that simple," she appeared at first surprised at his condemnation, then indignant. "We should try and work together in times like these."

"Quite," he arched a mocking brow at her. "I can see how the help of such people could be _invaluable_."

Eva exhaled gruffly, forcefully pulling off her gloves and slapping them down on the rock next to her.

"I hate sitting around like this," she complained sourly as she rubbed her hands. "While peasants and mercenaries are out there in the moors, killing scum."

Priest watched her with a curious expression.

"We are not aiding these warriors because these are petty battles, a waste of time and effort. We will strike when the opportunity presents itself."

Eva regarded him reproachfully.

"Let's hope, then, that by then it's not already too late."

He shrugged slowly, eyes deceptively placid as they cycled the camp around them.

"And your northman?" he shifted the topic fluidly.

Eva reached over to take her empty quiver, staying silent for a long time as she studied the leather strap sullenly.

"He works alone."

Priest made an indelicate sound.

"Good, because he strikes me as a bit of a cretin."

She scowled in disapproval.

"He seems more of a stubborn kind, I don't think he is more of an idiot than anyone else here."

"Or any _less_, for that matter," Priest said faintly, then snapped his thoughts to other matters. "Now listen. The local armourer is a Rogue that goes by the name of Charsi; she seems a competent blacksmith, if a touch...annoying. I dropped by her some things you needed repaired earlier, as well as having ordered something for myself. Go and collect them, they are already paid for."

Eva grabbed her gloves and rose. She blinked at him blandly, studying him with some annoyance.

"Why can't you go collect them yourself, warlock?" she tried half-heartedly.

Priest dismissed her curtly.

"Warriv is waiting for me," he said simply, as if that would explain everything.

She watched him in indecision as he stepped past her back toward the camp.

Finally reaching a decision, she stopped him by partially blocking his way.

"Wait," she started uncertainly. "What did Akara tell you last night?"

Priest's expression cooled momentarily, a flash of something quickly subdued. He looked her over critically, then stepped around her.

"Nothing relevant, do not concern yourself with it," he paused on the trampled mud to glance over his shoulder at her. "Let Rogues be the least of your concerns. There are far more pressing things to worry about than some cryptic priestesses in a derelict shanty."

Priest ignored the poorly disguised looks while he walked through the camp, occupied with some thoughts known only to him as he made his way through the denseness of mist. He brushed by a pair of gawking Rogues on his way to the caravaners' tents, where he left a letter with one of Warriv's men to be delivered to him later.

Afterwards he had little difficulty locating his and Eva's tent, patched and faded yellow linen with weak fire burning strenuously against the wind in front of it. The inside was compact and dark, scarcely any warmer than the outside. It was empty, of course, but the distinct scent of Eva still lingered. He shed his cloak and dropped it in the corner, then stepped back out and took a moment to light up a small, battered oil lamp. Its meagre light cast hard angular shadows over his face in the dimness of the tent, making him appear positively nightmarish.

With an old, worn key he unlocked the large reinforced coffer that occupied a significant portion of the tent with its bulk. The wind drove into the tent's linen walls with erratic bursts, keeping them in continual, if negligible, movement. Priest searched through the chest carefully, depositing some potions and retrieving some other minute items from it. With a scoff he considered an oddly shaped wand in the dim light for a while, then cleaned it carefully and secured it in his belt.

He barely had the chance to kneel down on a patched leather mat before he was disturbed.

"Have I found the tent of the Necromancer from the East?" came a frantic whisper from the uplifted tent flap, tentative and uncertain.

Priest shifted his weight in annoyance. Apparently, news travel fast in the Rogue encampment.

"You have."

A long pause, no doubt to gather courage.

"May I enter?"

"You may."

It was a man, with a scrawny hen under his arm. A commoner, if judging from his simple attire, faded by age and elements. Neglected black curls were flattened close to his head by the dampness in the air, rough skin and sunken eyes. There were many like him on the Rogue grounds, taking refuge with their whole families, if they still had any left.

His eyes darted around fearfully while he crawled into the low tent, then settled heavily on the stoic Priest as he seated himself across from him. The Necromancer waited patiently as the man took a few moments to compose himself, the chicken squawking timidly from his armpit. He shifted uneasily and took a deep breath before speaking, avoiding Priest's eyes.

"Oh wise warlock, I wish to place a curse upon my enemy. His wife had soured my cows' milk. She is a foul witch!"

The Necromancer looked him over slowly in the long, uncomfortable silence that followed. Then he adopted a businesslike expression.

"I will require an animal and a personal possession of this individual."

The man quickly set down the scraggy chicken he had been carrying under his arm, holding it down with one hand.

"Yes, I thought you might," he said hastily, obviously no stranger to such practices. "H-Here is a chicken and I also got..."

He fumbled in his belt for a moment, finally producing a small piece of cloth, appearing to be torn from a larger garment. Priest took the item with slow grace, in no apparent hurry to cut short the man's obvious tenseness. With baited breath he watched as the Necromancer carefully laid it down on the ground in front of him, then pulled a short, wavy-bladed dagger from his belt. He wrapped the piece of cloth over the dagger's ornately carved handle and cut the chicken's neck with it. Carefully he held the dying animal over the vial so it filled with its blood. The man watched with nervous expectation, biting his lip in unease. For a moment it seemed as if a deeper shadow rose from behind the Necromancer as he worked, arcing and twisting like an echo of something not really there. The man blinked quickly and dismissed it as the play of the flickering oil lamp, biting his knuckle nervously.

Corking and wiping the vial now filled with blood, Priest handed it to him.

"Smear this blood on him, and he shall be afflicted with blindness. If you cannot smear it on his persona, an article of clothing will do."

The man took the vial reverently, eyes gleaming with mixture of apprehension and anxiety. Priest observed him disinterestedly.

"That will be two hundred gold."

"Yes, yes, of course!" he quickly pocketed the vial, producing a small pouch to count out the, no doubt painstakingly-obtained, gold for Necromancer. "Thank ye, milord!"

Priest took the gold, then trained a pointed scowl on the man. Snapping from his staring, he gave an awkward half-bow and scuttled quickly from the tent. Outside, he straightened his crumpled shirt compulsively while glancing frantically about to make sure no one saw him. Satisfied with his subtlety, he fell into a nervously stiff gait, his fist clenched tightly around the precious vial in his pocket.

O O O

"Look at that one over there."

The Rogue indicated the man to her friend, a large northerner moving swiftly through the camp. He moved gracefully through the crowds of people, and his manner spoke of constant wariness to the Rogues' trained eye.

"I've never seen his kind before. He doesn't look local, or one of the easterners."

Her companion was engrossed in obsessively trying to wipe a dirt stain from her exposed thigh.

"He's a Druid...I think," she gave up on the stain to look up at last. "The first one of his kind I have ever seen here."

The other Rogue lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

"I thought you were more experienced than that, Oriana."

Oriana shot her friend an annoyed look.

"You know people come here from all over the land," she said with an air of mild scorn. "I know as much about Druids as you do."

Her Rogue sister made a non-committant noise, her eyes idly wandering the foggy camp while she encouraged Oriana.

"Come on then, I want to know how it went. Did you..."

She trailed off and they both shivered as a dark hooded figure passed them by from opposite direction, close enough for the fabric of his cloak to brush brown leather. He half-turned in midstep as he walked past, lingering his unseen gaze on them for a long moment.

"You're too curious for your own good, Aliza," her eyes stayed on the Necromancer's back as she spoke. "There are dark creatures all around us, temptations at every step."

"You sound like Kashya now," Aliza retorted with resentful exasperation. "It's a little late to be warning of dangers, don't you think?"

A small group of men walked by them then, most likely some local nobleman's guard, talking excitedly amongst themselves. One of them carried several heads, disfigured in their demonic nature, tied to a large pole over his shoulder, a gruesome collection of trophies. Their faces were locked in an expression of eternal pain...or was it rage? Hard to say with dead flesh that never belonged to this world to begin with.

"We should remain vigilant at all times," Oriana said pointedly, ignoring Aliza's tone. "Not just give in to our defeat."

Aliza grunted in annoyance.

"I'm not giving up, am I?" she dismissed more than challenged, then her expression shifted back into impatient expectancy. "So tell me what happened. You went to see Kashya?"

Oriana nodded quickly.

"Yes, me and Isolde delivered the report to her. I heard her talking to High Priestess Akara, they agreed that something must be done about this threat. The High Priestess has considered some capable foreign warriors she would ask for help with this den of evil. She doesn't want to send any more inexperienced souls to their deaths in that place."

Aliza frowned in restrained irritation.

"Why doesn't Kashya send more sisters? We could-"

"There is too little of us left," Oriana cut off the thought harshly. "And more die out on patrols in the moor each day. Kashya is right, it is about time we let these people prove useful in something else than eating our food."

Aliza shifted her weight, somewhat satisfied with the answer, but still apparently displeased that the matter would be given to strangers.

"And the place itself?" some fearful curiosity lingered in her voice. "You've been there, have you not?"

"Yes," Oriana affirmed grimly. "But I wish I haven't. It was a large patrol, standard formation with those in the front and flanks wielding swords and hammers and several of us in the back with the bows."

She took a deep breath, gathering her memories into coherency before going on. Aliza licked her dry lips slowly, expectantly.

"And? What happened?"

"We came upon the old caves in Blood Moor because a large group of fallen had set up camp at the entrance. We killed most of them, but some fled back inside. So we followed," she shook her head with a sorrowful exhale. "We weren't prepared for what we found in that damned place. It was dark, almost pitch black, but we had torches. The first thing that struck us was the dreadful smell, the stench that was absolutely overwhelming. We thought it was a choking poison trap at first. But it was corpses. There were corpses everywhere, and everything was covered in blood. Sisters, peasants and soldiers. All mutilated horribly. The cave floor was littered with weapons and cracked shields. It stunk so much I thought I would pass out. There were so many dead bodies strewn about, just rotting openly.

Just outside the reach of our torches there were corridors in limestone, leading downward steeply. There was a dull thumping coming from below, as if something big was moving about in the darkness.

Then it started.

Carvers and fallen swarmed us from all sides, I can still hear their wild screeches and that filthy, guttural language. We fought them, but there was too many. They seemed to be coming from every hole, from the caves below. We tried to retreat back into one of the elevated grottos on both sides of the main cavern, to gain some breathing space. Then the torches of those in the front lit up a large group blocking our retreat."

She took a moment to let what she told so far sink in fully. Aliza was biting her lip unconsciously, listening in transfixed silence.

"It was zombies," Oriana continued, keeping her absent tone. "By the Eye, there was so many of them! They overwhelmed us, breaking our formation against the fallen that pressed on against our back. The zombies were terrible, they just wouldn't die. You have to almost completely destroy their bodies to kill them, and there were so many...all around us. Aly cut off one zombie's arms, but it still brought her down, falling on her and biting viciously. I saw the others join in as she fell, eating her alive. I'll never forget her screams."

She stopped her narration for a steadying moment, and the silence was deafening.

"Still, we managed to reach the side alcove. We thought we found a safe place to hold back the tide, but then things got much worse. The thumping turned into thunder of heavy footsteps, and inhuman roars cut through the shrieks of the carvers. We could see the small devils actually shrink back and pause in fear, with huge shapes moving out of darkness."

"What was it?" Aliza whispered quickly, as if afraid the sound of her voice would bring that very malevolence upon her.

Oriana seated herself on an old barrel, slowly rubbing her palms against her thighs, her eyes unfocused in the wash of ghastly memories.

"I couldn't quite see what it was in the mad waving of torches, but it was big, _very_ big. It crashed through zombies and us alike, tossing Anya and Erin aside like they were nothing but dolls. Before I could even loose an arrow I was struck by a heavy fist and thrown back against a rock. Everyone scattered among demons. I panicked," she paused, her gaze distant. "I ordered retreat and somehow managed to stumble away. All the time I could feel a sharp pain in my chest with every breath. Blood dripped into my eyes and I couldn't see anything, so I just ran blindly. I could hear others alongside me, a steady hand guiding me along as we ran back to the entrance."

Aliza watched her friend intently, some deep-seated dread evident on her face.

"We lost six sisters that day," Oriana finished despondently, her voice cracking toward the end. She turned her eyes on Aliza for the first time since she spoke. "It's no wonder Kashya is reluctant to send any more there."

Aliza watched her in stretched silenced that followed, then stepped forward and hugged sitting Oriana unexpectedly.

"I'm glad you came back alive," she whispered in her ear hoarsely.

They stayed like that for a long moment, taking comfort in in each other. As she pulled back they remained in awkward silence, both silently pondering how badly they were losing this war, but neither having the courage to say it aloud.

O O O

Cold.

The chill was in the wind, and normally he would welcome the fresh energies it brought with it, reinvigorating the body with tingling fingers in every breath. But there was something oppressive about this wind, corrupt and unnatural. Perhaps it was merely because he was more attuned to the threads flowing though nature and life it sustained, but all this encroaching perversion put him at constant unease. Even the fires in the distance seemed threatening, as if there was more behind them than just another cycle of rebirth.

_Unnatural_, distinctly so.

He had realised long ago that the threat was not merely physical, and that was far more terrible than any demon. Demons were just the most obvious signs of the disease...the whole land was changing, for the worse.

He paused, fixing his attention to a specific spot. Not far up ahead, a man was pulling a sword from the body of a dead fiend, a corrupted Rogue by the looks of it. He slowed his gait in approach, adopting a cautious posture.

Borrn finally yanked his weapon from the freshly killed enemy, several of her companions scattered about in haphazard pattern where they, too, met his blade. He swore crudely as he realised, upon closer inspection of the bloodstained blade, that his broadsword was chipped in several places. The shield of that corrupted bitch must have been the final strain for the weapon. He lowered the sword by his side, looking down on the body before him miserably. All those ribs weren't very healthy to the blade either...

His head snapped up as he became aware of another's presence, his hand automatically bringing the sword back up in defensive form, while the other one reached for the axe at his belt.

It was a man, no less, just as familiar as the cautiousness with which he moved.

The Druid approached slowly but determinedly, holding his hands open by his sides to renounce any hostile intent.

"No enemies here," he called out raspily, keeping his eyes on the Barbarian.

Borrn lowered his weapons slowly, reluctantly.

"Well," he greeted in not entirely friendly manner as he appraised the Druid. "This darkness really has brought _all _sorts together. Do you walk all alone through these moors, shaman?"

His tone wasn't mocking, nor was it completely wary; it was something undecided, rather. Druid kept a steady gaze on him as he carefully listened to every word.

"I am never alone when I walk through wilderness."

Borrn sheathed his sword again, then spat blood into the grass.

"I've heard as much," even though he relaxed his posture he still regarded the Druid sharply for a long moment. "Did you see any Rogues around?"

The Druid shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off of him.

"Only dead ones," he paused awkwardly, but without any anxiety. "If we are fighting on the same side, we should at least know each other's names. I am Jelen."

Borrn snorted bitterly.

"Yes, to carve them into the other's gravestone if nothing else. Borrn of Clan Black Bear."

He offered his hand and took Jelen's forearm firmly. Jelen nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Well met."

Borrn studied the Druid through his wind-whipped hair for another moment, then turned away.

"There's a farmstead up ahead, I've seen some light moving there."

Jelen stepped up to Borrn, standing by his side as they gazed into the old farmhouse ominously outlined against the grey sky. The fog had lifted, affording them a clear view of the windy landscape.

"Let's investigate," Jelen suggested.

Borrn looked at him silently, then back at the distant farmstead. Exactly what he had in mind.

O O O

Eva held up the scythe, observing it critically. It was well made, in appearance a compromise between aesthetic appeal and usability. The war scythe's straight, wide edge was fitted upright on the reinforced handle, its design showing it was primarily intended for combat, not farm work. She herself was not exactly a stranger to unconventional weapons, not that a war scythe was particularly exotic as such. But her training in these types of weaponry was rudimentary at best, having focused more on spear, sword and bow.

"It's a good weapon," Eva's eyes slid aside to Charsi, who opted to comment helpfully. "But people usually prefer more standard types. My blades and axes are almost always sold out."

Eva looked around meaningfully, spotting piles of damaged armour and discarded weapons on the ground nearby, and several individuals perusing the weapon and armour racks.

"There is a lot of people in this camp for just one blacksmith. I'm surprised you have the time for custom orders."

Charsi grinned brightly.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. But with so many people coming here from out where, most of the repairs I do can be said to be custom work. We also managed to bring some of the old stock from the Monastery when the camp was set up, so I have a few exotic pieces left for those who can use them."

She studied Charsi from the corner of her eye as she collected her armour with practiced efficiency. She was shorter than Eva, but stout and muscled and moved with surprising grace about her makeshift smithy. Face that was smeared with soot held such surprisingly soft countenance, and her dark blonde hair was oiled and pulled back. Her bare arms were glistening with sweat from the heat of the forge as she leaned on the table heavily to watch Eva pack her bag.

"There was a Barbarian here a couple of days ago," Charsi continued, either oblivious or uncaring to Eva's mere casual interest. "He was looking over some enchanted claymores, but I think he couldn't afford them."

Eva paused in her packing to send her a contemplative look, but said nothing.

"I think I'll give him a discount if he comes back," she said wistfully while adjusting her heavy leather apron, blackened by many years of use.

Eva found it absurd how even in this dreary place and dangerous times, and despite her obviously hard-trained and work-shaped physique, there was still the trace of some girlish uncertainty on her face as she considered the Barbarian. In that moment Charsi seemed to her so out of place amidst the hardened warriors and miserable peasants and death here, like a rare flower growing from the crack in barren rock.

But then Charsi ran her gloved hand over the newly repaired hard leather armour and Eva knew there was more to the Rogue blacksmith than what she appeared. She may have _looked_ out of place, but she surely belonged to the Sisterhood as much as Kashya or any other Rogue.

"It's as fixed as it can be, but that leather is pretty worn out," Charsi explained while studying the piece with a skilled eye. "Maybe you should consider buying something better?"

"It'll do for now," Eva declined flatly, annoyed by the question reminding her of the lack of coin to afford better equipment.

Charsi observed her for a moment longer while she tied the armour chestpiece together with boots and slung them both over her shoulder.

"Oh, sure. Just let me know if you need anything else," she chirped pleasantly, before moving back to the hearth.

Eva secured the scythe on her back and reached for her overstuffed pack. Distant thunder rumbled somewhere in the everpresent cloudy blanket, the wind picking up in intensity. She stopped for a moment, letting her eyes roam the dark skies.

The gloomy weather was really gnawing at her disposition. Since she had arrived in this land she had seen scarce days without rain, not nearly enough to alleviate the despondency.

Rain and mud, blood and pain.

Her boots made wet, slushy sounds as she trudged on through the camp. The time itself seemed to have been caught and slowed in the creases of mud and wind-beaten landscape.

How apt.

Looking around the camp she couldn't shake the feel that everyone here was living on borrowed time, on a lease from the jaws of death which have now opened to reclaim all that was once theirs.

She found their tent, not exactly located in a particularly solitary spot, which were fairly rare in the crowded encampment, being given a wide berth by the locals and soon saw the most likely reason.

The warlock was outside, tending to the fire.

"There you are. I picked up those items from Charsi."

A spark of annoyance lit in her when he didn't acknowledge her, but was quickly dismissed as an infantile impulse.

Eva entered the tent to deposit the new weapon and pack with her own repaired armour inside. The book Warriv gave her she carefully put away between the folds of her crumpled bedroll. Outside she paused to squint around the bleak camp with her hands on hips, then turned her attention back on the warlock. He seemed to have discarded his cloak and body armour for his open leather vest, unsurprisingly black. She took a moment to study his unusual complexion, which was as white as she had ever seen on a living human, and his tattoos. Both his arms were covered in black ink from shoulder to the wrist, delicate tattooed patterns twisting and bending across his pale skin with some arcane significance.

Hesitating, she adjusted her hair and tightened her gloves. Some angry shouting, muted and stretched by the wind, from the distant end of the camp broke the silence of indecision, prompting her to action.

"That is some weapon you ordered, warlock. Slightly unconventional, isn't it?"

"It was a fair price," he answered off-handedly without turning around.

"I talked to Warriv too, I forgot to mention it before."

Priest made a curt, disinterested sound. It prompted a pang of irritated frustration from her.

He was sitting on a log of wood in front of the small fire, stirring the cooking cauldron slowly. Eva walked up behind him, pausing to sniff the air appreciatively.

"What's for dinner?"

"Chicken."


	4. Scars

**Chapter III **

**Scars**

* * *

Eva was leaning on her spear, staring off into the distance, while Priest stared down at the bodies. Corrupted Rogues covered their once-sisters where they fell over those they helped destroy, all equal in death and all covered in red.

Priest moved his head slightly to get Eva in his peripheral vision, light breeze tugging at his hair.

"Rouge is the colour of passion," he remarked. "And you will find nothing as passionate as a soul in departure from body."

She moved some stray persistent hairs from her eyes with the back of her hand, scoffing at him absently.

"They are heroes."

Priest took a long, slow breath, glancing away and back again in that way that conveyed nothing but distaste.

"A _hero_? A hero is someone who dies a heroic death. A glorious, heroic death for the one who tried and never succeeded. An empty victory, for him who fought so hard when he should be winning instead."

His eyes bored into her as he spoke, intensifying every word into a needle.

"You are strange, warlock," Eva muttered, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes.

He sheathed the bastard sword he was holding by his side all this time, blood encrusted on the old blade. It made a dull metallic sound as it slid into the scabbard.

"Yet I am victorious. And they," he made an idle step toward the heap of dead Rogues, his armour clinking softly under thick cloth of the cloak. "Are better off dead."

He observed the bodies with studious detachment, occasionally pausing to nudge with the tip of his boot, but in a way that wasn't really probing for life. It seemed more like a testing of material, texture.

Eva couldn't stand the ease with which he moved through carnage, with what cold aloofness he regarded the remains of someone's friends, lovers, relatives. She couldn't decide whether she was appalled or envious.

A shimmer of gold caught her attention, spilled pouch half-concealed under a bloodstained limb.

She made a strained noise as she bent down, her muscled thighs stretching the armour straps.

"You are hurt."

His words made her back stiffen with some anxiety, the dispassionate tone in which he delivered his keen observation adding to her discomfort. A bit too keen for her liking.

"I am _wounded_," she replied pointedly. "It's nothing serious. Nothing to waste a healing potion on."

Priest just regarded her silently, and she suppressed an urge to cough. She looked away, focusing on something in the distance.

"Cold Plains should be just in that direction from here, according to the map the Rogues provided," Eva noted, for she had studied the document well.

Priest nodded silently, slowly and unseen to her. Eva turned back to him, fighting the weariness from her face. Her eyes were once more drawn to a particular detail about him. She noticed a goldened hilt of a sword peeking from under his cloak at his waist at times, the crossguard and pommel inordinately intricate and detailed. But she had never witnessed him unsheathe the sword, whether in combat or otherwise, so it was hard to tell what manner of weapon it was, apart that it was a straight longsword.

Her eyes travelled, almost as if of their own accord, back to the bastard sword on his back. She could not help but notice how much dirtier and worn it appeared than the first weapon, almost like a reminder to the cold reality of present war.

"Let us be on our way," Priest reminded mildly, spurring her into action again.

She hoisted her own spear, on the brink of breaking as it was, and started towards the distant Cold Plains confidently.

The area was quiet, but in a very tense, unnatural kind of way. Inhuman sounds could be heard in the distance, carried across the moors on the wind, and every now and then a mutilated body served as a grim reminder. A stunted and disproportionate demon, twisted even more grotesquely in death. A dead Rogue with limbs at unnatural angles and covered in blood, her bow trampled into the ground not far away. A man with lower half of his body missing, entrails trailing out. A naked woman face-down in the grass, with deep red gashes razing her back. A young child crumpled against a large rock, blackened with decay and covered in flies.

Scarcely pleasant were the sights that greeted them.

They barely walked for long when they came to the opening expanse of Cold Plains. And on the border, amidst the ruins of an old fort, a Rogue.

She greeted them with as much curt apprehension as any other Rogue, the Necromancer's presence not eluding her. Just his presence alone evoked fear and wonder in them, it seemed to Eva.

"Be warned, warriors," she said ominously. "There be many enemies just ahead, far too many for a small party like yours."

"We have been there before, we know the dangers," Eva shifted her weight uneasily. "How many?"

Flavie scoffed into distance dramatically.

"Many. A lot."

Necromancer slid his pale eyes from her to Eva, some sour grimace creeping to his face.

"Well. With such accurate tactical estimation, how can we fail?"

Eva offered a meaningful look before turning back to Flavie.

"Will you remain here?"

Flavie's eyes flicked to her worriedly.

"I'm waiting for a scouting party to return, they are long overdue already," she looked up at the almost midday sun pointedly. "I worry for them."

Eva rested her spear against a crumbling wall, looking around tentatively.

"This is a dangerous area to be waiting in. Maybe we could wait with you until the scouts return?"

An uncertain expression settled on Flavie's face, while Priest rolled his eyes in the background in apparent annoyance.

"Though your assistance is not needed, I am nevertheless grateful," she managed a small smile that almost didn't look forced. "Especially from a sister Amazon."

Eva nodded back in acknowledgement, and glanced triumphantly at Priest.

"Good."

Aliza felt exhausted from the running and fighting, her legs burning with effort. Despite her harsh Rogue training, the strains and stresses of constant threat from demons was weighing on her heavily. Judging by the looks of her companion, she didn't fare much better. It was another narrow escape, with her and Oriana being the only survivors of a Corrupted Rogue ambush further in. Their scouting mission was suppoed to be a simple affair, quickly in and quickly out, but, like so many other things these days, went horribly wrong. The skirmish was brutal and intense, with many good sisters falling before her tired eyes. Aliza was still too numb and running on adrenaline to think about it properly, but she just knew their tormented faces will haunt her in the evening, when she is back to the safety of barracks tent.

"Look!" Oriana's voice brought her back to reality. "Ahead, we made it! We reached the Blood Moor!"

There was relief in her voice as she pointed to the lone figure standing vigil by the ruins up ahead, the ever-reliable Flavie. Except that she wasn't alone anymore, with two more figures waiting with her. They spotted them as well, and were now all turned in their direction. Aliza felt a cold precognition as she saw them, a distant feeling in the back of her mind.

"I wonder who's that with Flavie?" Oriana spoke up again as they slowed their pace. "They aren't sisters...probably some people from the camp."

"Hail, sisters!" Flavie called to them, with no small amount of relief, though not without pain either.

There were six of them when they set out.

"Hail, Flavie!" Oriana greeted with equal camaraderie. "So glad to see your face again, that you are unharmed!"

"Indeed, sister," Flavie said somberly. "I only wish I could say the same for those that left with you."

"The area ahead is far more overrun than we thought," Aliza spoke up for the first time, unable to fully hide distress in her voice. "They're all..." she trailed off distantly, bringing some pained silence over the small group.

"I am sorry for your loss," Eva said commiseratingly.

The two Rogues' attention was now turned to the newcomers.

"These two are from the camp," Flavie offered by way of explanation. "A sister Amazon and another warrior. They came by and offered aid."

It was not missed by anyone how vaguely and dismissively she presented the Necromancer, just as his true profession didn't elude the two Rogues. Oriana shifted her weight uneasily, exchanging meaningful glances with Aliza. She recognized the man as soon as she set her eyes on him, just as her sister no doubt did. Even though he did little at the moment past watching them disinterestedly, she still felt the tugging urge to put as much space between him and herself.

Oriana felt a haze of deep-seated unease around this man. It was an anxiety hard to define and even harder to explain, but undoubtedly stemming from the depth of unconsciousness. And judging by the brief talks with her sisters, she was not alone in feeling this. There was just something sublimely sinister about him, even as cloaked and common as he appeared.

"Their deaths will be avenged," Flavie said firmly, perhaps reassuring herself as much as her sisters.

Oriana grunted in agreement, jaw clenched. Aliza looked away scoffing, clearly battling some strong emotion.

"All life comes to an end," Priest spoke up from where he was leaning against the ruined wall, arms crossed and eyes deprecating, as if to heighten their unease. "Such is the nature of the Great Cycle of Being."

His voice was calm and measured, and, much like his mannerism, brimming with some subdued intensity. Another stunned silence hung for a moment or two, before Oriana retorted with some indignation.

"Their deaths were horrible and unecessary! They died far before their time!"

Flavie and Aliza scowled at him stormily in her sister's agreement.

Priest uncrossed his arms to lean forward pointedly.

"And what would you know about such matters?"

"They died for a good cause, at least," Eva interposed, dividing the attention of Rogues. "They died fighting. More than could be said for some."

There was a pregnant pause before Flavie spoke up, somewhat mollified.

"We should report back to Kashya immediately," she exchanged concerned looks with Oriana and Aliza. "She needs to know about this."

Oriana nodded vigorously, while Aliza just stared ahead despondently.

"Let's go."

They made to depart, but Eva signalled for them to wait.

"Warlock, I think we should go with them back to the encampment," she collected her spear resolutely as she spoke. "We should be heading back soon enough either way, and there is strength in numbers."

Priest regarded her from under his brow cynically, glancing briefly at the uneasy Rogues.

"If you wish. Anything to stop standing aimlessly about."

O O O

Eva moved through the camp briskly, some resolve brightening her face and lightening her step. Her leather armour was mended and polished by Charsi, though her flesh still felt sore. She didn't mind much, it kept the true danger of what she was facing in the forefront, and right now her mind was racing with other things.

Priest followed her approach with his eyes from where he sat, a picture of haggard serenity. She came up to him with a palpable air of accomplishment, placing her fists on her hips triumphantly.

"I have spoken with Akara," she began meaningfully.

Priest turned a laconic look up at her.

"And what did she have to say?"

"She asked to see us in her tent immediately, and Kashya is there also," her tone made clear that this was to be of some importance. "We would do well to go and see what they need of us."

Priest grimaced in annoyed distaste.

"What makes you think they hold my alliance, much less allegiance?" he challenged.

Eva was taken aback for a moment, then resumed her firm stance.

"That's hardly a way to gain the Rogues' trust," she said scornfully.

Priest was now studying her critically from under his brow.

"Their trust is irrelevant, their respect is irrelevant. _They_ are irrelevant. It is only our common interest that matters, do you understand?"

Eva leaned away distrustfully.

"I understand, but I do not agree. Warlock, this is important. Of what little Akara told me, there is a place of great danger not far from the encampment. Demons are gathering there, most likely this is where they are launching their attacks in the Blood Moor from. The Rogues have dubbed it the 'Den of Evil'," she said with dramatic grimness.

"How original," Priest quipped dryly, somewhat spoiling the effect.

Eva flicked a long glance his way, skewering him with her eyes.

"Nevertheless, it is our destination."

Priest rose and took a heavy step toward the bag lying not far from him, potions and various trinkets spilling from it sloppily.

"Yes," he agreed at length. "Rooting out this demonic entrenchment should significantly destabilize their spearhead into the area."

Eva stopped and watched him suspiciously for a few moments, surprised by his apparent abrupt change of heart.

"Right," she added as she helped him collect the potions. "And give the Rogues some breathing room."

She straightened suddenly, her brows furrowing as if a thought just struck her.

"Did you..."

He paused where he crouched, raising an eyebrow up at her questioningly.

"Nevermind," she shook her head dismissively.

Priest nodded vaguely, then pulled the bag close and rose with an air of finality.

"To Akara, then."

Kashya was already in Akara's tent when they arrived, their strained conversation petering out awkwardly as Eva and Priest entered. The air inside was ladden with incense as the last time she was here, though Eva's attention was less focused on taking in the surroundings with two penetrating sets of eyes on her.

Akara and Kasyha deemed to greet them with silence, grave and expectant and utterly suffocating. Priest seemed little inconvenienced by it, Eva noted silently with some mild annoyance. Silence came like breathing to him, she knew this well. She suspected that if left to his own devices, he would simply stand there and stare back at the Rogue leaders, like a man watching pine boughs swaying in the wind.

"Ah, Eva," Akara stressed the name meaningfully, conspiratorially. "I am glad you could come on such short notice."

"How could I not? From what you told me, this is a serious matter," Eva responded grimly.

Akara nodded with some sadness in her features, while Kashya remained stoic and hard.

"Indeed, a terrible danger preys upon us all, and I have given you but the most brief information," her green eyes flicked to Priest momentarily. "You know already of what I speak, Necromancer."

Eva snapped a sharp look on Priest at this, but he paid her no heed. Instead, his mesmerizing attention was focused solely on Akara.

"This foul place is a grave danger to all of us gathered here," she continued, with unbroken resolve. "Will you not aid us?"

"Wait, how did-" Eva struggled to interject, but nobody was paying much attention.

"I serve the Equilibrium, and none other. I have come here to restore balance; if in the process I also come to aid you, then so be it."

Akara slowly nodded, studying him steadily.

"I understand."

Kashya shifted her weight tensely, turning to Akara.

"Does that mean we can count on their swords or not, High Priestess?"

The cloaked Necromancer appeared bored and annoyed as he glanced at her. When he spoke again, it was more of impatience than any discernible sympathy.

"Yes, we will do this for you. We will seek out this...den of evil, and we will succeed where you have failed."

"How dare you-" Kashya began angrily, but a raised hand from Akara silenced her.

"If you do, you shall have our gratitude," the old woman's voice was graceful and lined with fine aristocratic threads. "And our trust, both in your intentions and your skill."

Priest offered a distasteful expression, showing plainly just how little he valued such offerings.

"Of course," Eva interrupted the brewing tension, swallowing her anger and sending a disapproving look his way. "We would be glad to help, but we must supply ourselves first."

"Very well," Akara said gravely. "Do not think your offered assistance goes without appreciation. Come to the war tent at nightfall tomorrow. We will gather Rogue Lieutenants and most capable adventurers in the war council at dusk."

She paused for a moment, hesitating.

"Seek help from the others as well, Amazon. There are many warriors here that would gladly help you. Perhaps we may even lend some of our sisters to your plight," here she shot Kashya a meaningful look. "We shall see."

Eva nodded tightly.

"We will do as you say."

She briefly acknowledged Kashya then gestured to Priest, who was preoccupied with mud stains on his cape. Drizzling rain emphasized the moroseness hanging about them as they walked away from Akara's tent, side by side. Boots sank in the mush of mud and trampled grass with each step, just deep enough to be of annoyance.

"Next time _I _will speak, warlock, and you will not interrupt," Eva warned with some subdued emotion.

"Then I urge you to speak quickly, for we have not come here for fruitful debate," the Necromancer dismissed curtly.

"And you _knew_ about this for...how long? And you said _nothing_?" Eva gained intensity with every word.

Priest shrugged with a non-committal sound, as if shrugging off a trivial matter. Eva bit back her frustration and anger, knowing that they would do little good, and they were silent for a long time. Truly there were times when he was so infuriating and unreadable it drove her mad. But she liked to think she knew him enough by now to know there was always a good reason for everything he did, though not necessarily a comprehensible one.

Or perhaps that was just what she told herself for her own peace of mind.

She shot him a quizzical glance from the corner of her eye as they walked on, her anger wearing off slowly.

"So you've decided to help the Rogues?" she asked flatly, at last.

Priest kept his voice quiet and scornful as he trudged on through mud.

"We are here to free the pass, I could not care less about the Rogues."

O O O

Borrn and Jelen stopped to survey the thrashed interior, their large, robust figures casting heavy shadows from the doorway.

The silence was enclosing, spreading forth from the dank rooms of the house like a black shroud. Neither of them appreciated it much, for it was the kind of thing that was more the harbinger of things to come than an oasis of tranquillity.

Borrn kept his eyes in constant motion, surveying the cramped interior as they cautiously advanced, never letting himself grow lax. There was a feeling of distinct unease in the back of his mind, and judging by the tenseness of his companion, he shared it too.

Floorboards, covered in a thick layer of sticky dust and soaked in water leaking from the ceiling, dulled their steps.

"What is that smell?" Borrn muttered roughly, his face grimacing as his eyes sought about.

Jelen, too, felt the stench, and his brows furrowed slowly as it only added to the rising unease that gripped him. It was not the smell of a corpse, the pungent sweetness, nor was any other of the manifold odours that nature could produce in its various ways and states. This was...different, and in a bad way.

"I do not know," he kept his tone low, out of some unconscious impulse. "But be wary."

Both men stepped lightly, with every sense focusing into gathering what lay before them, every limb ready to explode into movement. The silence was heavy around them, constricting, and in this straining for anything tangible they were suddenly struck with horrid realization.

It was the stench of a demon, the foreign scent of something that had never been actualised in life, now invading their senses. A dark presence of something that was never born and will never die, but rather forced itself into the form of life and has beaten it into submission.

The two men, now alerted to foreign presence, startled and searched around frantically with anxious eyes. Just as Jelen's fingers tightened on the hilt of his falchion there was a familiar bleet and a passing of many shadows over the broken windows.

"Ambush!"

Even as he cried out, Borrn jumped back out the door and reached for his weapons.

With much clamour and noises the goatmen attacked, coming in from around the main building and pouring in from the rundown stables. Their hooves made dull, threatening noise across the damp earth as they charged with snarls and garbled words.

Two warriors burst apart, with Jelen falling back to where corrupted Rogues flanked them from the stables, and Borrn surging forward toward the wild hedge around the side of the house.

Pair of goatmen halted him, black and grey as if born from cooling ash of hellfire, sporting axes and vicious clubs. Borrn came to an abrupt stop and threw himself aside just as the first enemy struck forth with his weapons, missing him by a few good centimeters. He slid around the blows clumsily and managed to put himself inside the goatman's defensive reach. While doing so, he pulled his sword along behind him, but out at an angle to graze the goatman's right arm. The blade cut over the goatman's underarm, deep enough to slice off flesh and scrape the bone. Momentarily paralyzed by surprise and pain, the goatman dropped his club and stumbled sidelong with a deep snarl.

Borrn beheaded the surprised goatman with one fast slash and a furious cry, already rushing sideways to avoid the strikes from the axe of his comrade. He blocked the last blow with his own axe, pushing the enemy's weapon away, and stabbed him with the sword. The first stab was quickly followed by another slash downwards and chop with the axe from opposite side, finishing the demon and spraying his thick blood all over his face and leathers.

Explosively he bolted over the fresh bodies and threw himself against the damp wall of the house, keeping one line of escape open towards the porch. Blood rushed through his ears like fire in the veins, every sense heightened in the familiar state of alert. Out in the yard, Jelen was cutting down corrupted Rogues while moving in erratic circles, his falchion lethally efficient with non-linear strikes he was employing.

The enemy was vicious and relentless, caring naught for pain and loss of life. As he kept a lunging goatman at bay, Borrn slowly edged toward where the Druid was, never letting himself become hedged in. Even though Borrn was fairly confident in their odds, separating was very dangerous because the demons outnumbered them. With lethal strikes coming from all directions, every misstep could be fatal.

The two warriors had managed to kill a significant amount of their foes already, their skill and will outmatching even greater enemy numbers.

However, the remaining demons, which now consisted mainly of stronger and more resilient goatmen, were still too numerous and fast to be overpowered out in the open like this.

With savage might and enduring hatred for all living they fought, encircling the two humans and pressing forward to crush them in their combined might.

Swerving and cutting, Jelen and Borrn enclosed on each other again, coming into each other's reach and forming a defensive circle. Borrn's greasy hair whipped around his face as he whirled about frantically, struggling to keep the enclosing enemy in his view.

"Don't let them surround us!" he darted in and out into the slowly merging groups of the enemy, desperate to prevent them from forming a perfect circle.

Behind him, Jelen kept the goatmen at bay with wide, fast slashes and spinning movement. But the goatmen were well organised and clever, and they kept in tight mixed groups, preventing any more of their brethren to be killed by mobbing either of the pair when they ventured out to strike at them. Borrn and Jelen both knew that they couldn't keep the demons at bay indefinitely, for as soon as they would make an unbroken circle around them, they would rush them from all sides.

"We must break their lines!" Borrn shouted a warning, searching fiercely for an opening.

Jelen drew on the energies contained in the air about him, creating a magical influx of sort before him. A momentary sucking sound was followed by an abrupt blast of chilled frost that blasted forward into the enclosing goatmen. It blew forth ahead of him in a sparkling cone of blue death, chilling all in its path.

Borrn felt the coldness from the powerful blast of frost as Jelen fanned it about, engulfing surprised goatmen and turning them into frozen statues on the spot.

Though not expecting it, Borrn seized the opportunity and struck out as soon as the spell wore out, shattering the frozen enemies. They exploded into chunks of flash-frozen flesh in a shower of crystals under his axe, crystallized grass crushing underfoot. Jelen folllowed and they promptly took advantage of the ensuing opening and pushed out, breaking the tie. But the persistent goatmen, undeterred by mortal fear or fatigue, quickly regrouped and renewed their assault, several of them having the distinct advantage of a polearm.

The two were forced back into the house, retreating into a safer position while defending themselves. Behind them, a spreading growth of blades and skewering tips. The doorway gave them a great tactical advantage against the goatmen, for the chokehold it created greatly reduced their numerical advantage. The goatmen were tall and wide, thick muscles under slick fur. Their intimidating size prevented them from entering into the house more than one at a time, and no more than one could stand in the small doorway at once, with others clumsily poking in through any openings behind him.

Jelen and Borrn positioned themselves at an angle on either side of the doorway, easily slaughtering the first few goatmen that attempted to storm the building. Then there was a pause in attack, for goatmen were no idiots, and far from lacking knowledge in tactical warfare.

Jelen sought out Borrn's eyes, silently conveying what both, as experienced warriors, knew – it was only a matter of time. An occasional poleaxe head poked into the house, quickly repelled by a strike from either man, just enough to keep the pair inside. The demons' horrible grunting and baying noises only served to further tighten the tension around the men's necks.

There was a distinct sound of shattering glass amidst grunts and angry cries and clanging of weapons.

"The windows!" Borrn cried out in alarm, already rushing to secure the back of the premises.

Jelen stepped in wordlessly, both of them understanding that the doorway must be held just as importantly as none must be allowed to surprise them from behind.

Tense moments passed and none attacked from the front, while Jelen could hear the sounds of fighting from the back; Borrn holding back the attackers trying to enter through the windows. He resisted the urge to go and help him, knowing that the ruthless goatmen would take any opening presented to them. From his position half-concealed behind the doorframe he could see the goatmen standing in defensive stances outside, just a little to the sides of the door so that no direct attack could hit them, their weapons at the ready. Something was wrong, why weren't they taking advantage of their divided attention and attacking?

An acrid scent caught Jelen's attention then, sending him into an instant state of alarm.

The vile creatures had set fire to the building! A torch flew in through the door, bouncing off the corner wall in a burst of sparks and rolling on the floor. Flames could be seen reaching up through the windows and choking smoke began to pour down from the rafters, filling the rooms and lungs.

"We're on fire!" he called to Borrn as he saw him come crashing from the back of the house.

"Damn the beasts!" Borrn cried out amidst coughs, trying to keep a bearing on his surroundings.

"We cannot stay in here!" Jelen shouted and Borrn was in complete agreement.

"Let's go!"

Borrn screamed in rage as he threw himself frontal forward, hacking and thrusting with the last remaining strength. He exploded out the smoke-filled doorway recklessly, rushing an outline of a goatman outside and disappearing out of Jelen's view.

Jelen was about to follow when a goatman struck at him with a spear, charging at him from the smoky doorway. Jelen twisted in the last moment, bringing up his his falchion to force the thrust off course. Heavy spearhead stuck in the wooden wall past his shoulder, the sound of cracking wood speaking of the force of the blow. From this close, he could smell the hellish stench of the demon, and feel the cold inhumanity of his scorching eyes. Jelen slid the blade of his sword down the spear's shaft, cutting through the goatman's hands.

He made a ghastly sound as his spear hit the floor amidst severed fingers, blood splattering over them. Jelen stepped in with a hard elbow to the goatman's face, simultaneously impaling him on the falchion. He tried to strike at Jelen's throat, but his bleeding hands were useless and his strength was fading fast. Pushing the goatman away he used the momentum to propel himself sideways, towards another advancing enemy. He intercepted the charging goatman in the doorway, ducking under his swiping axe and striking low, disemboweling him and tackling him outside.

He quickly rolled away from the dying demon and sprung back to his feet in a defensive stance. Borrn was a little ahead towards the corner of the house, struggling with two vicious goatmen. One of them was already wounded from the Barbarian's weapons, bleeding cupiously.

The last of demons, never yielding, now attacked with full force in their last attempt to bring them down.

But now they lacked the numbers to bring down the two warriors, however weary they were. Borrn and Jelen made short work of the last few goatmen, with Borrn scoring a nasty cut over his ear from a sword that nearly impaled his head.

Jelen pulled his sword from the last fallen demon with a grunt of effort, wiping his sooty brow. His eyes turned to Borrn, who was standing over the dead goatmen, bloodied and transfixed. His face was set in grave expression, brows knitted in cautious concentration.

That face would be littered with scars of war, and that nose, broken countless times, crooked out of shape grotesquely, were it not for the wholesome effect of the restorative potions and magic. Indeed, were it not for them, Borrn would not be standing here among Rogues now, battling malevolent foes. Some deep, concealed part of him scornfully doubted his honour and courage for using such devices to evade death's clutches. But Borrn paid it little heed; a warrior need not be a fool throwing his life away at a whim to dine at the table of the Gods.

Still, that part remained, however minute, always doubting his worthiness for such a glorious fate.

Borrn eyed the bodies with some intensity, breathing heavily.

"I'm going back," he threw his chipped sword in the blood pooling from corpses angrily. "I've had enough."

He turned and made back toward the path without another word, prompting Jelen to stare after him curiously.

O O O

"That farm over there...we can rest there and scout the area around those hills. The higher ground should give us an advantage in case of an attack."

Priest glanced at her over his shoulder and then at where she was pointing. He gave a silent nod. The sky was grey and indifferent as they made their way through the rain-beaten grass and through mud. It loomed over them like some dreadful shroud, suffocating all hopes and making everything look desolate and cold.

The closer they came to the destroyed farm, the more wary they became, their weapons ready and movements careful. Above the distant inhuman sounds that occasionally reached them on the wind, or a very human cry, there was ominous silence over the place. The kind that descended over the entire land when the demons came it seemed, and Eva never really got used to it.

She doubted anyone ever could.

A scene of carnage opened up to them as they reached the farmstead. The stomped ground was crusted with dried blood and remains of demons in the large courtyard, with rotting hay slipping underfoot. A recent conflict had left broken and mangled goatmen and corrupted Rogue bodies lying about. The main building was nothing but charred remains with ashes still smouldering, the blackened solitary walls reaching out to the sky impotently. Sickly scent of burnt flesh wafted over from the burned-out house, and Eva was again unpleasantly reminded of roasted pork. The similarity of the scents was uncanny, and once realized, the forced association would never go away.

Nearby stables were the only structure left relatively untouched, even though the stench coming from them spoke of death and rot.

They cautiously made their way through the courtyard, with Eva prodding an occasional body with her spear to ensure it was dead. The warlock seemed at ease, as he often did, though there was that quiet alertness about him, his flail held casually, deceptively by his side. Eva felt ill at ease herself, what with the ashes of the house still hot, and all the fresh bodies about. One should always expect the worst, a credo she adhered to strictly. It saved her life many times in the past few months.

She kicked a dead corrupted Rogue away, its slumping body leaning back against a charred remainder of a wall, deep red gashes in the pale flesh, like meat at the butcher's stand.

"Careful, I want to take her eyes."

Eva pulled her spear from the body of a corrupted Rogue forcefully, scoffing in perplexion. She thought to ask what he needed a fallen Rogue's eyes for, but then decided it best not to know.

She glanced toward the Necromancer, who was now stretching the dead Rogue's eye area between a thumb and forefinger, retrieving a thin crooked knife from his belt with the other hand.

"Make it quick, warlock!"

"In a moment."

She used the time to search more thoroughly through the ruins and around them, ensuring there were no demons or undead waiting in ambush. When she returned, she found the warlock already finished with his ghastly deed, and they took a few more relaxed steps around, searching for the best spot to rest a little.

They stopped at the remains of several goatmen clustered together, looking like they died fighting together in a group.

Eva hesitated.

"What is it?"

She knelt down smoothly to study the tracks and trampled grass around the bodies.

"Someone, whoever killed these beasts, was here recently."

"That much is obvious. A Rogue patrol?" Priest offered from the background off-handedly.

"No," she rose quickly, scanning the surrounding plains for activity again. "Someone heavier. Rogues rarely travel in groups of less than three. It was someone else, someone else from the camp."

Having found nothing in vicinity, her eyes sought out the warlock. He was staring off towards where the weathered path was veering around the boulders, and the windswept moor behind.

"There are many in the camp," he commented vaguely, turning around. "And it matters little who it was."

Eva glanced back at the goatman bodies again.

"I suppose it doesn't. Let us rest here, outside," she indicated the edge of the farm's yard, unwilling to stay in the stale air of the stables' interior, amongst the hacked corpses.

Priest nodded his indifference, and they settled in the cover of the open stables. Eva seated herself on an old stump and refreshed herself from a waterskin.

They sat in silence for a while.

The Necromancer's company was oddly comforting, in the same way a silent tombstone amidst the tranquil cemetery bushes is comforting.

Perhaps numbing was a better word.

She grabbed her pack firmly, retrieving a leather-wrapped book. Carefully, almost reverently her hand paused at the cover before pulling it open.

Priest watched her read with a sort of placid air, the kind of idle serenity reserved for observing something that just barely holds one's interest.

"That book is worthless, you know," Eva shifted her weight on the stump with a narrow breath, pointedly ignoring him. He waited long enough for her to fall back into reading again, then continued. "Delusional ramblings and fantasies of a supercilious Horadrim toad. Any philosophy that struggles to explain life without comprehending death is worthless."

Eva briefly glanced up from her reading, unable to hold back her tongue anymore.

"You always have a full mouth of scorn for everything, warlock."

Priest watched her for a silent moment before answering.

"The world is full of inferior minds, producing inferior works."

She snapped the book shut irritably.

"Well _I_ like it," she said defiantly.

"I am not surprised. Women are often attracted to things they don't quite understand. It is the intrigue of the mysterious."

"If you know women so well, why are the only ones enduring in your company dead then?"

"Rest assured live ones enjoy my company just as well, if I allow them. It is just that the dead ones are such better conversationalists."

Eva gave a disgusted breath, rising.

"We've rested long enough."

"As you say."

An amulet clinked softly against his armour as he rose slowly, and for a moment Eva thought she caught a strange glint from the corner of her eye.

Priest noticed her inquisitive look.

He reached for the amulet idly, a simple pendant of a spiral carved into an angular tablet, one of several around his neck.

"Do you see this spiral?" he pointed out the faded etching with gloved finger. "It represents many things, many meanings, least of which is the overarching principle of Necromancy – the obscurity. The spiral unfolds unto itself into infinity, and as you gaze upon it you see all of it, all its boundaries within which it is contained. And yet, your sight penetrates only so far, and no matter how closely you look, there are always infinite depths still unseen. You see it, and simultaneously you do not."

"How...disturbing."

Priest let it slide from his hand, forcing her attention up to his face again. Then he nodded at the book in her hand pointedly.

"Do not presume that because you see all that is to be seen, you _know_ what you are seeing."

She sighed roughly and shoved the book back in her pack.

"Maybe I'm just reading it for entertainment? One needs not know something to be entertained by it."

"May be," Priest said distantly, eyeing her intensely.

She never did get accustomed to those unblinking, transfixed stares of his. There was just something..._unnerving_ about his staring eyes, an almost trance-like quality to them. At times it seemed to her as if he was caught in some sound beyond her grasp, listening to something only he could hear. She shook off her thoughts, looking around the morbid countryside with tired eyes. Perhaps it was better she didn't know his thoughts after all. Ignorance was far better shield sometimes.

"Come then, let's be on our way, warlock."

O O O

It was almost evening already when they returned to the encampment, sore from walking and tired of the day's dark work. At least Eva was, she never really could tell how the warlock was feeling, and she doubted they had similar sensibilities. The camp was slowly dying down in activity as night approached, with fires lighting up in front of tents, merchants slowly packing up their wares in their wagons and more Rogue sentries beginning their night patrols of the camp. The main tent was likewise beginning to fill up, with lords, soldiers and peasants and all in between to drown their fears and sights of the day.

Cold wind was picking up again, biting vengefully at any exposed skin. Eva cricked her neck to each side as they walked through camp slowly, brought first one shoulder up, then other. She rubbed at her side absently, old wounds coming to haunt her. Even though the magical restorative effects of many healing potions should prohibit such relapses. Perhaps it was just in her head. Or perhaps there were some wounds even a healing potion couldn't heal.

A cold feeling in the bottom of her stomach made her shudder momentarily. She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to dismiss the dark downward spiral of her thoughts. It never did anyone any good thinking bad things in worse times, no good at all.

"I need to check something," Priest said off-handedly, not even looking at her.

Eva opened her eyes to look at him.

The hood of his cloak was down, his long hair stirred by the wind, his profile sharp as bone. They were close to one of the Rogue barrack tents now, a large angular shape. Its sheets of dark brown fabric, faded and worn by elements, strained inward against the wind. Some Rogues loitered about it, giving them suspicious glances.

Eva didn't bother asking what he needed to check, since his wording implied he wanted to do it alone. She just donned a mildly impatient look.

"The Rogue council is this evening, " she said redundantly.

"I know, and apparently we are attending," he gave her a dry glance. "I'll meet you at our tent at mid-evening. Don't be late."

"And you neither, warlock," she said pointedly.

Eva made her way to the close-by area of the camp where many trader wagons were, though some were already closed. A few reamined open all the way into late evening, scrounging for the rare profit made off desperate adventurers.

Gheed's stall was one of them, and at the moment he was negotiating with a rough-looking individual in worn leathers and an eyepatch. He was holding up a gaudy looking ring for close inspection in the feeble light.

"So...in order for the magic to work, I have to place the ring on my chosen one's ringfinger?"

"Of course," Gheed hasted to assure smoothly. "The magic will bind you two together as if you were destined to be!"

The man frowned thoughtfully.

"Isn't there some other way to make it work? Putting the ring on her finger would mean having to untie her hands."

Gheed cleared his throat forcefully, glancing about meaningfully and placing a conspiratorial hand on his back.

"Not per se, but for the meager added cost of forty gold I can throw in a potion which is rumoured to have been made by Bartuc the Terrible himself! Its arcane magical power would grant whoever drank it power over the minds of man and beast...or so they say."

The man clearly had difficulty believing this, but he nevertheless produced his purse, grudgingly shifting it in his hands.

"Twenty-five," he said roughly. "And that's_ if _it ain't just cowpiss in a bottle."  
Gheed brought a slow hand to the side of his head and affected a pained expression.

"You wound me, friend. Deeply," he swallowed thickly for dramatic effect. "I am talking about an immensely powerful alchemical concoction! None can truly know its vast magical effects, all we know are guesses preserved from fragments of writings that were found with it. And you would have me sell such a mighty artefact for...for a mere twenty-five gold? I think not, sir! I couldn't _possibly_ let go of such a powerful potion for any less than thirty-five gold! And even that is practically cheating me out of my meagre earnings!"

The man grumbled some more, considering, calculating in his mind.

"Thirty-two?" he ventured at last.

"Deal!" Gheed shot out, slamming him on the shoulder. "You've made a fine purchase today, friend, a fine one! Keep in mind though, I have a strict no-coin-back policy," he added quickly with a warning finger.

The man narrowed his eyes at Gheed, who was smiling back, but said nothing more as the exchange took place.

Eva glanced after the Gheed's latest customer for a moment when she approached. His face brightened falsely as he pretended to spot her for the first time.

"Ah,...the Amazon. The Rogues have been whispering about you," he said with an oily smile. "Praising your skill in battle and your courage."

"Is that so?" she said suspiciously, eyeing his wares on display.

Gheed roamed her firm body with his eyes.

"Oh yes, and I can see now just by looking at you that they were right to praise you," his expression darkened instantly, hit tone lowering. "Though I can't say I much approve of your choice of travelling companions. Why anyone would want to travel with such...such a.._man_, is beyond me."

He gave a shudder, but his friendly façade returned as he noticed her darkening expression.

"But enough chatter, eh? You are here for some premium and supreme quality items and potions, not to hear me talk! So what can I do for you?"

Eva carefully looked over some of the weapons in a rack, then grabbed a short sword and appraised it closely. Gheed watched her tentatively, his eyes following the blade.

"Yes, a wonderful example, one of the finest there is today. Crafted by-"

"Many people buy your wares, don't they?"

Gheed feel silent momentarily, curious eyes studying Eva. He disliked talk that didn't directly involved sale, but if banter was what was needed to sell something, he was not adverse to it. Some people needed softening before buying anyhow, to have that illusion that they have developed a relationship of a sorts with the seller.

"Yes," he answered smoothly. "Many buy from me, because they know quality could mean the difference between life and death out there," his tone lowered conspiratorially. "Nary a few days ago even a Druid bought some supplies here!"

He emphasized the words with some self-important nodding.

"He came from lands far away, and even he could instantly recognize the_ superb_ craftsmanship of my wares."

Eva arched her brows in surprise.

"Really? A Druid? And what did he buy?"

"Well," Gheed adopted an evasive expression. "I am afraid I can't tell you. I value my customers' confidentiality, you see. But it was no small amount, I can tell you that."

"No doubt," Eva murmured bitingly, hefting the sword in her hand. "How much?"

"Four hundred and thirty gold," Gheed said quickly, already noting her snort of disdain. "My goods are expensive, but quality comes with a price. That particular piece is enchanted with magical sharpness, it cuts deeper than it looks!"

He smiled pointedly again. Eva replaced the weapon on the rack.

"It's still too expensive."

Gheed gave an exasperated sigh.

"You are free to go to my competitiors, of course, and if you can call them that, but don't complain when a wepon breaks in your hand or a shield doesn't stop that axe! I might be a _little_ bit pricier than your next Rogue blacksmith with subpar skill, but I deal only in quality, and I firmly stand behind all my wares!"

Actually, he more hid behind the fact that most of his customers didn't live long enough to voice their dissatisfaction, but that was details. He adopted a firm look, with traces of annoyance filtering to his face.

"I am not here to discuss the quality of my goods in any event. Now, what can I help you with?"

Eva shifted her stance, looking him in the eye.

"You said a Druid bought here, how about a Barbarian? Did a Barbarian buy from you recently?"

Gheed rolled his eyes mentally. 'Yes, they were all barbarians', was what he wanted to say, but instead just smiled and spread his bejewelled hands apologetically.

"There are so many people in this camp...I have many customers."

"Tall, long red hair, wears leather and usually two weapons?" Eva insisted.

"Can't say I remember anyone like that," Gheed said coldly, his patience rapidly evaporating.

Who did this woman think he was, the village minstrel? He was here to make gold, not answer her inane questions, and time is gold! Clearly she wasn't intending to buy anything, and he was done wasting his time with her. He pulled his coat close, subtly interposing himself between her and the enchanted jewellery stand, and forced a tightly strained smile.

"I would _love_ to chat with you into the early hours of the morning, but I am expecting an important customer any time now, big order. So just let me know what you need so we can both be on our way."

Eva gave a small, cruel smile herself.

"Oh, I was just looking," with that, she turned and walked away.

Gheed's expression darkened, hard eyes glaring at her retreating back.

"Damn bitch," he muttered under his breath after she was out of earshot, then went to compulsively re-arrange his rings.

Noting that starless night had already fallen, Eva quickened her step. She made her way back to their tent, having had enough of the annoying trader.

During the course of past few days, the few tents in the immediate vicinity of their own had been hastily packed and moved deeper away into the camp, leaving a circular patch of trampled empty land around the solitary tent.

The warlock was standing in front of it now, lost in some thoughts and facing away from her. She frowned. It was almost time, the Rogues were already gathering in the war tent, she could see the fires all the way from here.

And he was just standing about idly?

She walked over briskly, stepping around the tent to their small, now cold fireplace.

Priest stood there in silence, hypnotic with his wild eyes and silent presence. He was so still and, she realized after a moment, unblinking, he took on an appearance of a statue, of a man frozen in folds of time.

Eva cleared her throat pointedly, though it provoked no reaction from him.

"Are you ready?"

"You have to find the demons before they find you," he said absently, slowly turning his eyes on her and blinking.

"What?" she asked softly, then repeated with more annoyance. "Are you ready, warlock?"

Priest just threw her a look, then stepped past her. Eva turned around after him, following him with her gaze for a long moment.

There was already quite a crowd gathered outside the Rogue war tent when they arrived, but mostly consisting of noblemen guard, nonchalant mercenaries and Rogue guards. Torches were lit and a pair of large braziers crackled outside the tent's entrance, their flames flickering in the cool night breeze.

All the lights and bustling activity gave the illusion of safety, but there was a palpable sense of tension and anxiety underlining everything. Eva could see fear in many eyes, fear and uncertainty.

There was a kind of urgency in the air, an atmosphere thick with despair.

Outside the guarded entrance was Kashya, discussing something with some rugged-looking mercenaries and occasionally disappearing inside the tent. Eva acknowledged her as they came up to enter, and she took note immediately, of Priest especially.

She sneered at him belligerently.

"We don't need your kind here."

"Good thing, too," he retorted with honeyed venom. "If you did, it would say a lot about your level of competence."

A Rogue Lieutenant approached, casting suspicious glances toward the Necromancer.

"Everyone is here, Captain."

Kashya turned to her, reluctantly drawing her cold eyes away from Priest.

"We will begin shortly."

She turned again to stop the pair that already made to enter the tent past her. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she measured them with a hard gaze.

"Akara may have placed some sliver of hope in you, but do not think you can win me over this easily. It will take a lot more than killing some demons in the wilderness to gain our trust."

"We'll do what we must," Eva said tersely, keeping her at bay with her eyes.

Kashya's hard stare was still on them as they entered, and were enveloped by a tent that already hosted a crowd of Rogue Lieutenants and local nobility, or what passed for it.

"Well," Priest started acerbically. "I'm sure sleep will not come easily tonight, knowing that I do not have the Rogues' trust."

"Things would be much _easier_ if we had their trust," Eva glanced at him wearily as she pushed her way to the forefront, where a large map was spread over a table.

She spotted Borrn amidst some heavily armoured men, his features immediately recognizable. Warriv was there also, standing a little to the side of the great table in the company of a distinctly Eastern-looking pair of warriors. He gave Eva a friendly nod as he spotted her.

The Rogue commanders were gathered around the map, their diminished numbers speaking of the terrible blow dealt to the Order. They gave Eva and Priest measured looks as they made their way over. Even in the subdued din of the tent they halted their conversation at the presence of a much maligned Priest of Rathma.

Eva hoped the proceedings started soon, just as Kashya had said. She felt slight unease in the midst of all these inquiring eyes. Of course, she never showed a bit of it. It is not a way of the warrior to show weakness.

Movement at the entrance signified she would not have to wait much longer. The crowd respectfully gave way to Kashya as she entered, heading directly to the High Priestess behind the table. The small crowd silenced with expectation, and tension rose in the air. After a brief consultation with Akara and her immediate lieutenants, Kasyha stepped forward and spoke to the expectant gathering.

"So far, you have shown yourself to be some of the more competent warriors that have strayed into our camp. I need not tell any of you about the dreadful scourge that has gripped our land. But even in all this hellish nightmare, some dangers are more urgent than others. You have been called here because of a most dire threat that must be dealt with immediately. Most of you already know what I speak of, an amassment of enemy forces in Blood Moor, on our very doorstep," she paused dramatically, surveying the expectant faces. "Something must be done about this, and soon!"

"Why wasn't it done sooner?" a voice from somewhere in the back of the crowd demanded anonymously.

Kashya sent a cold look in its general direction, then addressed the crowd again.

"It is imperative that we attack their position as soon as possible. The more we delay, the greater the threat."

"We should go out in numbers and fight them, push them back by force," a grizzled-looking man at the front, a mercenary of some sort, interjected. "Bolting ourselves in here is a slow death! Why weren't the enemy positions stormed sooner?"

Kashya gave him a hard look, her posture tense.

"We kill one and ten more rise in its place. They are relentless! Cold Plains are littered with demonic bodies, many of them our own sisters that have been swayed into Andariel's hellish influence," her tone lowered into bitter murmur. "And unlike demons, our numbers are not infinite."

The wave of uneasy muttering that followed spoke of how well was this fact known in the camp, and how much the open admission of it by a high-ranking Rogue framed their fears.

"You can bear no hope of defeating them in the war of attrition," Priest spoke up for the first time, immediately drawing all attention to himself. "Or any other sort of war, really."

Kashya pressed her lips together tightly, crossing her arms.

"Then what would you have us do?" she demanded angrily.

Priest was calm before the staring Rogue lieutenants, looking each in the eye as he spoke with some caged intensity, his distinct voice shattering the atmosphere in the tent.

"Andariel is the binding arch-demon that anchors these creatures here and guides them. She _must_ be removed if this land is ever to be cleansed."

Some agreeing murmurs rose in the back, quickly silenced.

"Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish?" a gasped question quivered from the crowd, but was ignored.

Kashya exchanged a meaningful look with Akara and then turned to Eva resolutely, pointedly ignoring Priest.

"This was our plan all along. We will not tolerate this demonic corruption within the heart of our Order. But until we come to that greater goal, we can but delay the demonic invasion," she glanced at the large warmap spread out on the table again. "This is the first step."

Eva was watching her thoughtfully, several of the nobles peering at Kashya from behind her.

"What can you tell us of this Den of Evil?"

"Not much. Most of my scouts have never returned from that place. The foul beasts are launching their attacks from this series of underground caverns," she indicated the spot on the map. "It will not be long before they manage to bring over enough reinforcements to completely take control of Blood Moor from us. When this happens, we are all doomed!"

Eva scowled over the large map, leaning on the table heavily.

"What of these caves, how far do they stretch?"

Kashya exhaled in frustration.

"We don't know. We are only aware of at least two underground levels to it, but old reports speak of much vaster network beneath the plateau," she paused to exchange a quick look with one of her lieutenants. "These caverns have never been fully explored, it is very likely for other entrances to exist."

There was a momentary silence, all eyes tensely fixed now on the map, now on Kashya, and the ever-present shuffling of those in the back trying to push forward enough to see the Rogue commanders and participate in the decision-making. Yet despite the crowded tent, there was a circle of free room around the Necromancer, a rather comical display of distance-keeping by both soldier and Rogue alike.

"What about your Rogues?" Borrn spoke up roughly. "Can we count on their support?"

Kashya's voice grew low and scornful, indicative of some inner struggle.

"I cannot risk sending a full battlegroup into these caves. Every Sister is needed here, to defend the encampment and hold our ground in the Blood Moor. Many locals have already gone to clear it, large groups and small, peasants and nobles alike. None returned."

A wave of distressed murmur rose from the assembled. Borrn snorted in disgust. Some of the gathered began to argue amongst themselves, and the protests grew louder.

"So you want us to go out and do your slaughter work?" one of the nobles spat from the second row.

"Aye," another agreed. "Sending us to our certain graves!"

Kashya made a few resolute steps forward, instantly calming the brewing unrest.

"When I say that every Sister is needed here, rest assured that I mean it!" she spoke loudly, her voice commanding obedience. "We must defend this encampment at _all_ costs, and more than just _our_ lives are at stake! But if we don't destroy the enemy gathering this close to us now, it will not matter!"

She scanned the gathered with steely eyes, silently challenging anyone to defy her. A gentle hand on her arm calmed her fire; Akara sighed quietly, painedly. She stepped past Kashya slowly as her hand lingered on her arm, now focusing everyone's attention on herself.

"It saddens me more than I can say," she began slowly, commanding complete silence and attention, but with a different kind of strength than her fiery Captain. "To see such suffering in our midst. The Order will do all in our power to aid those warriors brave enough to stand against this rising threat. But to do so, we must protect our hearth, here," she paused to let her eyes slide over the many expectant and tired faces watching her. "Or all is lost. Those that sought refuge here, seeking shelter for their families among us, we cannot abandon them. The Sisters must remain here, protecting this encampment from creeping death. So it falls to you, brave warriors, to fight and win this battle in order to protect us _all._ For if we do not stand united like our enemy does, all is lost."

She slowly looked around at the eyes of the crowd again. Some were sad, some ashamed and some resentful, but all were silent.

"Well," Eva broke the stretched silence, uneasily. "Those demons need to be destroyed either way. Have you made an attack plan already?"

Akara looked at Kashya, subtly letting her talk.

"We did," Kashya quickly spoke again, all businesslike. "Of sorts. It needs to be finalized when we know exactly who all is willing to participate, so for now it's a rough draft. We hope to be able to attack the place in three days' time," she paused to look around the crowded tent again. "All those who do not wish to take part in this, leave now. The rest of you willing to help should stay behind near the tent. We will reconvene again in short while to discuss details."

She stepped back in the midst of her Lieutenants, and with that the meeting was called over.

Roused but with a palpable sense of foreboding, the crowd slowly left the tent and dispersed, several smaller groups remaining to discuss the situation in grave tones. Some others took the opportunity to acquaint themselves with their neighbour, attempting to find common points in a time of distress.

Borrn watched with much distaste as the witchman loitered about in the company of that Amazon, both petitioning something with Akara and the Rogue commanders, or so it seemed. He turned away, refusing to foul his disposition further, then, spotting a familiar figure, started toward it with large, determined steps.

The Druid was seated on a barrel by the cow pen, carefully carving a small wooden statue. He paused and watched the crowd, making a comically unpleasant face as he followed the Necromancer with his eyes. This did not go unnoticed by the Barbarian.

Borrn sniffed loudly, then nonchalantly stepped over.

"I didn't see you in the war meeting this evening," he said neutrally.

Jelen made a thoughtful expression.

"What could they have possibly decided upon other than that there are demons to be destroyed?"

Borrn made a grudgingly agreeing sound, but watched Jelen evenly.

"There are some fiends gathering in a nearby cave system. If you're thinking of coming along..."

"I don't know," Jelen said quickly, as if annoyed by the subject. "I prefer to fight alone. I do not work well with groups."

Borrn grunted dismissively and shifted his weight.

"I probably will. Might as well start somewhere, and it sounds like a good place to get killed as any."

Jelen made a thoughtful sound, not looking away from his statuette. Borrn exhaled impatiently.

"Well if you change your mind, seek me out. I could always use a familiar sword by my side in that damn place. Someone I can rely on."

He already made to leave, but Jelen's voice stopped him in mid-step.

"Borrn," Jelen began at length, as if unsure how to phrase the question. "Why did you come here? I hear the corruption and darkness has not yet reached Harrogath. Why did you come to seek it out?"

Borrn stared at him for a surprised moment, then gave a dry, humorless laugh, more bitter than dismissive.

"You can either lie back in snow and freeze, or die with a sword through your heart," he said that in a way in which it was apparent which outcome was preferable.

Jelen studied his face curiously, not saying anything for a long time. Then he turned his attention back to the figurine, nodding with quiet acceptance.

"We all have our reasons."

O O O

Eva whirled out of the range of a lance, bringing her spear up to push it away and skewer the attacking corrupted Rogue. She vomited blood as she was impaled on the spear, struggling impotently to free herself. Eva twisted the spear upwards and kicked the corrupted Rogue off, already turning to the next enemy.

It was a small group of corrupted Rogues they encountered in the wilderness at first, but the skirmish quickly attracted another group of their fallen sisters, so they had to divide their efforts to keep them occupied. Eva was almost finished with the first group now, only a single pair of corrupted Rogues remaining to circle her warily with axes and maces.

Eva eyed them through narrowed eyes, spear pointed ahead and slightly upwards against them.

Behind them, Priest was fending off three corrupted Rogues with a two-headed flail. He kept his flail in constant motion before him, maintaining a defensive barrier and making it harder for his opponents to strike him. One was brained easily, having fallen into mud with a bashed-in face overflowing with blood that spread over her nigh-naked pale form like a veil of red. The other was attempting to strike at him with a chipped scimitar, face twisted in rage and hate.

Her blade got entangled in the flail's chain with an expert parry as she slashed at his arm, then pulled from her grasp with a sharp yank. She was open for a moment and Priest followed with a vicious straight sidekick to her plexus, which was more of a distraction until he could bring his flail around in fast half-circle that slammed into the side of her face, heavy metal tearing off her jaw in a spray of blood and crushed bone and sent her whirling to the ground.

He finished her off with a couple of stomps on the head with a heavy boot before jumping out of the way of the final enemy's strikes. She was armed with sword and shield, and much more cautious than her two dead sisters. Several attacks that she tried were deflected by the spinning flail, one of them leaving her side open momentarily. She managed to block the incoming strike in the last moment, but Priest wasn't aiming at her body.

The spiked heads of the flail hooked themselves behind the rim of her shield, which he then sharply pulled forward, imbalancing her. Simultaneously he pulled a throwing dagger from his belt with his other hand and brought it up towards her temple in a sharp arc. The corrupted Rogue blocked the blow desperately with her swordarm, steel catching on steel. From this close, her longsword was more of an obstruction than a useful weapon against an armoured opponent.

Priest reversed his flail, throwing it to the left against their locked weapons while himself spinning to the left abruptly, breaking the lock. The flail now caught around her sword before she could react, pulling her further forward as Priest turned with the pull. He hooked his dagger over the tip of her sword again and, thus having locked her weapon between his arms, twisted sharply to disarm her. Her sword was torn from her hands, too quick for her to bash him away with her shield, and the next moment a fast elbow delivered to the face staggered her back.

The sword fell into the mud useless, with Priest advancing back on her before she could recover. His flail struck from the right again, and she barely lifted her shield to intercept it. Now Priest stepped forward with a quick jab of his dagger into her momentarily unprotected right side, stabbing it through her eye socket so fast she was dead before she could even register what happened.

He pulled the dagger out as the body abruptly collapsed.

Glancing about as he re-sheathed his bloody throwing dagger, Priest saw that Eva had dispatched the remaining Rogues, but her last enemy had managed to topple her and fall on top of her even as she died impaled on her spear. Eva pushed the still impaled dead Rogue aside with a mighty heave on her spear, then remained on her back for a long moment to catch her breath.

"Tired already? We have only just begun," the Necromancer stepped over a twitching body of a fallen Rogue as he spoke, approaching. "Someone could easily mistake you for a corpse like that."

Eva made a pained sound, sitting up.

"Warlock! You promised you won't desecrate my body if I die!"

"That I did. But you are not dead yet, and such concerns should not burden those who still draw breath."

Even as he spoke he helped her up, as gently as he would a fresh corpse, while keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Eva grunted as she was pulled to her feet, still feeling the blow from the corrupted Rogue's mace throughout her torso.

It was the day after the war meeting, and they were out on a short demon hunt in Cold Plains. Nothing definite had been agreed upon last night, other than that three days' date of attack still stands. The bickering of nobles and usual disagreements with plan the Rogues had drawn out prevented the creation of a solid attack plan. Another meeting was scheduled to be held tomorrow, when the Rogues would present revised plan of attack in accordance to the suggestions and objections of the noblemen participating, but Eva felt fed up already. She had her own plan, which she fully intended to present to the Rogues at the meeting as well, but all this delaying was driving her mad! Now that the threat was finally revealed, she was eager to get in there and eradicate it, to do some good at last. And while she was glad for the assistance of other people in the camp, she felt they were also unnecessarily complicating things with their inexperience and internal feuds.

If it were up to her, a solid plan of attack would have been drawn right then and there, and they would be marching to the den of evil by now.

"Eva," Warlock's voice brought her from her ruminations, brief as they were. "It is unwise to stand about in the middle of an open field. If you are feeling unwell, we should seek shelter."

She gave him a mildly confused look.

"I'm fine, do I appear wounded to you?"

"I meant so you could safely resolve your thoughts."

Eva's confusion turned to an irate scowl, not in the least amused.

"Let's just go."

They walked for a short while in silence, vigilant of any new threats. This was Cold Plains, after all, an area far more dangerous and crawling with demons than Blood Moor. Right now, they were going through what used to be a large patch of farming area once, abandoned fields all around them.

Eva spotted something and slowed her pace, indicating for Priest to do the same.

"Up ahead," she said curtly, her eyes set on the figures coming into view from behind the ruins of a defensive wall.

It was a bloody scene, but in these times and in this place, nothing out of the ordinary. Bodies of carvers and corrupted Rogues were scattered about the field, hacked limbs and discarded weapons amidst puddles of unidentifiable gore. Rotting corpses spread over the burned-down remains of a turnip field like macabre harvest.

The small group, apparent victors of the recent skirmish, were busy with scavenging the bodies but quickly fell into hostile formation as they noticed the approaching pair. They soon relaxed upon realizing the newcomers were humans, but in the shuffle of readying their weapons one of them dropped a sack he had slung over his shoulder. It opened and something rolled out.

A head, once sitting firmly on the shoulders of a Rogue but now stained with corruption only death could cure.

It rolled down the small incline and over the flattened grass unevenly, stopping in an impression in the soft soil next to Priest. He pushed his hood down with a quick motion as he crouched smoothly, his attention focused on the head by his feet. His white hair spilled forward over his face as he picked up the severed head to gaze serenely into its countenance, twisted by pain and horror and smeared with old blood. Slowly, he turned it in his hands, studying the dead face with a masterly eye. Gazing into milky depths as if they spoke of hidden sights that evaded the common eye.

A pair of worn chain boots stopped in front of him, demanding his full attention. Priest straightened again slowly, turning his eyes to the man standing in front of him. The others watched sharply from the background, their hands always firmly gripping weapons.

They were a motley bunch, with mismatched pieces of armour, grey, scratched and rust with nicks and dents and dirt crusted in the joints. Faces, where visible, were defiant and weary, yet all to the last sculpted in that grim resolve so common to those whose lifestyle mostly consisted of warfare.

The one closest to Eva shifted restlessly, leaning with both hands on his pollaxe as he watched her. The chain lower part of his helm covered his mouth and nose and left only his eyes visible, bloodshot and strained in perpetual squint. Right now they were measuring Eva with a mixture of hunger and mild suspicion.

"You better give that back now, guvnuh," the one facing Priest, one could surmise a leader of the group based on his bearing and confidence, measured him with cruel eyes.

He gestured with expectant hands, smiling toothily. Priest offered the head in one extended hand, along with a tight smile.

"A souvenir?"

Eva knew that the foot soldiers, probably mercenaries drafted in at the start of demonic invasion judging by their lack of insignias, were either too stupid to recognize him for what he was, or too far burned out to care.

The one demanding the head back was apparently the former.

"Aye," he indicated the Priest's neck with his eyes, where several miniature skulls knotted in a string around his gorget were clicking together dryly. "Looks like you got a taste for 'em yourself, eh?"

Priest's empty smile persevered on his face as he studied the man with that unblinking intensity that always unnerved Eva.

"I prefer efficacy over aesthetics," he said evenly.

The man, perhaps finally affected by that aura of unspecified dread that always seemed to hang over the Necromancer, glanced away for a moment. He disguised his discomfort by clearing his throat roughly and spitting in the mud, then quickly reached for the offered head.

"Aye," he repeated, with a slightest tinge of nervousness. "We all got our little souvenirs."

Eva came to stand by Priest as the mercenaries' Captain stashed the head in an old sack carefully, and flung it over his shoulder again. By the amount of dark stains soaking through and the way it was filled out, there was definitely more than just a single head in it.

"You look like you haven't seen too much sun, eh?" he squinted up at grey sky, wistfully adjusting his dented helm. "We ain't seen much of it lately, either. Just the bleedin' rain, all the time."

"I like rain. It washes all the blood away."

The man blinked at Priest and shifted his weight with a sort of bemused expression, while the men behind him whispered something amongst themselves. Eva studied him with a tilted head, occasionally glancing over the others that now formed a curious half circle around them.

"Have you seen much of the enemy?"

The Captain turned to her, perhaps glad for a change of subject.

"Seen it? There's nothing but the demons everywhere!" he spat, then his face brightened with another smile. "And some Rogues, here and there. Always a sight for weary eyes."

Eva didn't quite like the way he looked at her as he said that.

Another one of the soldiers smiled up at her, displaying a large gap in his front row of teeth.

She rested one hand on her hip irritably and glared back until his smile died off in uncertainty.

"Are you from the Rogue camp? A local skirmish patrol?" she inquired further of the Captain.

"No," he shook his head vehemently. "You'd have to be mad to stay in that place. It's a deathtrap, it is! Me an' the boys have set up camp in some ruins south of here, in the Black Marsh. It's a good spot, covered from all sides, and patrols drop by now and then with news."

"Nothing good, I imagine," Eva said darkly.

"Nay," he replied. "Nothing good."

The tone of his voice suggested that he was used to it, though. As much as one could get used to such nightmares made reality.

"This place is going all to hell, and fast," one of the men said raspily, immense resignation carried on his tone.

The Captain half-turned to give him a sharp look, then turned back to Eva.

"It ain't all bad, it ain't. We're used to killing, an' there's plenty of killing to be done 'round here. Plenty of spilled blood calling for vengeance," he gave another of his toothy smiles. "We manage."

Eva frowned at him.

"I probably don't need to tell you, but things are getting worse by each day. The demons are gathering for a final push against the Rogues."

Captain exchanged meaningful glances with some of his men.

"Are they now? Can't say I'm surprised. No concern o' mine, though. Those fools-"

"What kind of ruins?" Priest interrupted abruptly, as if the conversation was of trivial concern to him.

The Captain paused in mid-sentence, taken by surprise. He closed his mouth and his brow furrowed slowly, then his face brightened again.

"The crumbling kind," this drew a few weak chuckles from some of his men, and a rolling of eyes from Eva. "Couldn't really tell you much more about them, guvnuh. They're ruins. They're old. Not much else to it, is it?"

Eva watched Priest with some puzzlement, annoyed at the pointless interruption.

"So you're demon hunters?" Captain again pulled her attention back to himself, his unsettling smile returning. "Have to say,-"

A long, faraway howl cut the atmosphere, and his smile vanished instantly, all heads turning to search about in caution.

"It'll be nightfall in about an hour," Captain said quickly, gravely. "It's a few good hours' walk more back to the Rogue camp. You might want to consider coming back with us to the camp to spend the night. You wouldn't want to be caught out here during the dark, trust me."

"That's probably a good idea," Eva agreed softly, her gaze, too, grim and lost in the distant moor.


End file.
